


What Is This Feeling, So Sudden and New?

by jazzypizzaz



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drink Space Nine, First Time, Getting Together, Hologram ethics, M/M, Mystery, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Solid!Odo, Unresolved Romantic Tension, basically: Odo is ~thirsty~, bodies are weird and confusing, what I'm saying is: Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-14 21:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11216526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzypizzaz/pseuds/jazzypizzaz
Summary: Odo solves a case on the station to distract himself from the mysteries of his newly humanoid body. Quark tries to help Odo adjust by finding him a favorite beverage.





	1. my face is flushing

**Author's Note:**

> __[What is this feeling, so sudden and new?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cHPJh-ndVCE)  
>  _I felt the moment I laid eyes on you._  
>  _My pulse is rushing,_  
>  _My head is reeling,_  
>  _My face is flushing._  
>  _What is this feeling?_  
>  _Fervid as a flame,_  
>  _Does it have a name?_  
>   
>  kudos to fluorescentbrains for all her insightful criticism as a beta and encouragement in the face of my whining. now someone write us a Wicked AU

Odo perches himself a healthy distance away from Morn’s oversocial mouth and leans against the bar counter.  

 

He may not quite be used to his new humanoid nature and its frustrating limitations -- only last week he broke his leg jumping off the stairs expecting to turn into a Tarkalean hawk -- but he's still the Constable.  He has his keen eye and razor sharp focus, and the state of station security requires his unyielding nature as much as ever.  Even if his physical nature is no longer fluid.

 

Recently the station has undergone a series of equipment malfunctions and thefts -- otherwise disconnected except for their occurrence in or near the bar -- and Odo would be negligent in his duties if he didn’t investigate the locational source of the issues further.  Even without this perplexing issue though, it's a busy evening at the bar with the raucous nature of happy hour revelry as the most likely to attract trouble -- thus necessitating Odo's vocational presence.  

 

The surveillance is at least something to keep his mind off the overwhelming bewilderment with which he faces each day, attempting to decipher and withstand the alien signals and requirements of his new body.  

 

“Good evening, Constable, here for your eighteen-hundred hours tap water?”  Quark says with a sardonic lilt.  He passes Odo the drink, already poured and waiting for him.  “Lukewarm, as boring and tasteless as you are?”

 

“Tasteless, from the man who owns four editions of _Vedeks Gone Wild_ ,” Odo harrumphs.  “My problem is the opposite -- too much taste.  The humanoid sensory palate is an unnecessary distraction, and one that I’d be happy to do without.”

 

“What you call unnecessary, I call--”

 

“And another thing about the humanoid body,” Odo interrupts, his irritation rising to the surface.  “It’s erratic!  I drink two liters of water throughout the day, on a careful schedule to maintain proper hydration--”

 

“I’m well aware.”  Quark rolls his eyes.  “Profits help us if you drink two milliliters over or under--”

 

“-- but this body doesn’t always agree!  A quick-footed pickpocketer means I run up the stairs instead of taking the turbolift, and understandably I need more water, but sometimes for no reason I require a several milliliter variation in intake!  And then this throws off my whole schedule.  It’s bad enough I have to interrupt my activities several times a day to excrete waste, but when the urge arises several minutes prior to the time I’ve set aside for such abhorrent activity--”

 

“And you call me disgusting…”  Quark lifts an eyeridge in a grimace, as he listens to Odo while plating up several orders of hasparat.  “If you don’t mind, Constable, leave the bathroom talk for when you’re not at a food establishment--”

 

“The entire humanoid body is profligate!  All day long, it’s at war with itself in a process of intake and outtake.  I’m required to partake in ingestion, converting matter into energy in a never-ending cycle, and then I’m constantly losing pieces of myself!  Sloughing off skin and hair and waste, all day long--”

 

Quark gives a short hiss and leans in to speak in a stern lowered voice.  “Or at least not at my restaurant!  You’re putting off my paying customers, the ones who order more than tap water and protein supplement #7 --”

 

Odo continues at regular volume, as if Quark hasn’t said anything.  Quark throws up his hands in a “why bother” gesture, turning to listen with one ear as he pours out drinks for several lieutenants approaching the bar.  

 

“Why eat so often if twenty-three percent of it is ejected from the body in some manner?  Not even used!  My people --”

 

“Your ex-people,” Quark chimes in.

 

“The Founders then -- they make sense.  The best scientists couldn’t have designed a better being.  The only interruption I had was the need to regenerate, and that had the purpose of providing a grounding in my true form.”

 

“The Founders genetically engineered the Vorta and the Jem’Hadar, maybe they redesigned their own genome too.”

 

“I wish they hadn’t redesigned this body.”

 

“It’s -- it’s not all bad, is it?  Being one of us disgusting humanoids?”  Quark turns back from his customers to face Odo.  He tilts his head, then with a swift motion slams a pink, triangular-shaped cup on the counter.  He pours out a bright blue liquid into a glass and shoves it towards Odo.  “Here, try this.”

 

Odo sniffs it, and a telltale burning tickles his nostrils.  “You should know that alcohol was one of the first sensory inputs I researched, primarily to prevent any accidental inebriation by the likes of you.”

 

“Because you hate fun, we’ve established that.”

 

“Because I’m on duty, Quark, and as I’ve told you, I fail to see the attraction of losing control of any more bodily function than I have already.  I’m fine with my water.  And, whatever this is, it can’t be healthy.”

 

“Who said anything about health?”  Quark shrugs.  “This is about pleasure.  You’re finally one of us, the whole gamut of humanoid experiences at your disposal, and instead of enjoying that, all you do is mope around.”

 

Odo sighs.  “Do you know what would make me happy Quark?  Besides returning to my changeling form?”

 

“What?  Finally ready to try spicy food?  A round of dabo?  Oh, I bought a few new holosuite programs that might interest you.”  Quark perks up, pulling out a padd to scroll through the list of possibilities.

 

“What would make me happy, Quark, is if you left me. Alone.”

 

“For once I’m not the one driving this pity party rant fest,” Quark says, and Odo scowls.  “Now, I don’t mind and it’s a bartender’s solemn duty to listen to his customers, to better help them drink their problems away.  But you, grumbling by yourself, not spending any money?  How can I make profit of off that?”

 

“You profit by me not shutting down your establishment for harassment.  I’m done.  Go away.”  Odo scoffs and swivels on the bar stool to watch the happy hour crowd.

 

“Only if you can tell me one thing you’ve enjoy about being a humanoid.  Just one.”

 

Odo purses his lips (or rather, his lipless mouth, since the Founders made him human in functionality, but kept his unfinished face as it was).  He takes a sip from his water, not meeting Quark’s eyes.

 

“Exactly.  Odo, you don’t want to be a depressed sourpuss forever -- well maybe you do, but this has gone too far, and I won’t allow it.”  Quark clasps Odo’s shoulder with his hand.  

 

Odo jerks his head in surprise, but doesn’t say anything -- Quark’s hand is… nice.  Warm.

 

Quark continues on with a surprising amount of earnestness: “You need to find one pleasurable aspect of your new existence, then maybe you can build a happy life after that, and I won’t have to listen to your incessant whining every day.”

 

Quark stares into Odo’s eyes, his face twisted with what might almost be genuine worry.  A charge passes between the two of them, and Odo’s face feels warm.  His eyes flick to Quark’s hand on his shoulder.

 

Quark hastily glances away, his own face a darker color, and picks up a rag to wipe at the counter.  “I’m just looking out for your well-being here, as a -- as a salesman.  Love of latinum help me I will find you a better drink to buy, one you enjoy, and with a more sizable profit margin.”  

 

Odo rolls his eyes.  He refrains from touching his shoulder.

 

“That’s all I have to say.  I’ll leave you alone with your water and tepid, tasteless, depressing life now.  If you’re ready to indulge for once, let me know.”  Quark gives a sharp nod -- for some reason looking distinctly more frustrated than warranted that humanoid Odo has similar preferences as shapeshifter Odo -- then bustles off.

 

Despite the background hubbub of the merry-making crowds, at Quark’s absence Odo is left alone once again, with the awareness that despite his abhorrent bodily processes belying him as a fellow solid, he’s still a man apart.

 

Odo sighs and downs the rest of his water, shuddering as he can feel it slip down his throat into his stomach.

 

Another disgusting humanoid practice, another day trapped in this body, another exasperating interaction with Quark.

 

\------

 

Not much later, just as a disgruntled Odo is calling it quits for the night, a brief panic behind the counter shakes him from his exit. One of the replicators starts spewing nothing but hot plomeek soups of rainbow colors, creating a vibrant splash zone.   

 

When O’Brien arrives, he manages to stop the steamy tidal wave.  He has no satisfactory explanation and is instead convinced that it’s a routine result of one of the many baffling idiosyncrasies of retrofitting an Cardassian station with a hodgepodge of Federation and other alien technologies.  

 

Odo makes several attempts to question shady-looking characters skulking around in the vicinity -- including a distinctly jittery human and several misanthropic Andorians -- but these leads turn up fruitless.

 

The fact that it’s the third replicator problem this week, however, means Odo isn’t so sure the event was a fluke.  True, the station is always malfunctioning in some fashion or another -- and Quark’s reluctance to replace equipment means the bar especially so -- but occurrences have gone up in frequency by seven percent.  And no anomaly is too small not to investigate for possible security issues.  

 

Once the commotion dies down and likely suspects have already fled, however, there’s not much to do than keep an eye out for clues.  Odo settles back into routine surveillance at the back of the bar and scans the room to note: two freighter captains huddled at a back table (either an illicit deal or a burgeoning romance), a group of ensigns shouting and laughing (perhaps one round of drinks past pranking shenanigans), and a couple of those Andorians now looking uncharacteristically cheerful (possible shapeshifter infiltrators?).

 

Instead of paying attention to any of these red flags, however, Odo instead finds his attention slipping back to Quark.  

 

This in itself isn’t unusual; Quark is public enemy number one after all, the most likely person in the bar to start trouble under the radar -- or at least, under anyone else’s radar other than Odo’s.  

 

However, now that the replicators are working again -- and now that Odo isn’t monopolizing the bartender’s attention with rants about his own problems -- Quark appears fully occupied with the mundane duties of his trade.  He bustles about, schmoozing with the visiting Andorian diplomats, whisking up Tellerite froths by the dozens, etc, with never a still moment.  Nothing about Quark’s behavior points to suspect activity, but despite this Odo finds himself loathe to look away.  

 

Odo chalks it up to an investigator’s intuition.

 

Then, Kira enters the bar, with a quick wave to him across the room.  Quark, on cue, hustles over to her with a mug of what is presumably raktajino, her own ritual for days when she’s working overtime on a troublesome problem.  

 

(In this case, she’s probably frustrated by how to discipline the new lieutenant.  He claimed his comm badge and sonic toolbox were taken from him while he was drunk, instead of admitting to sloppy negligence: a case of stubborn greenhorn who’s bad at lying, or was the equipment in fact stolen by enemy spies -- or by an enterprising capitalist?)

 

Before Kira can drink the beverage, however, Quark says something that causes Kira to freeze, his familiar lewd smirk and her offended scowl making it obvious the nature of the comment.

 

Odo stands up, ready to intervene, but in one fluid motion Kira twists Quark’s arm behind his back and pins him face down on the bar counter.

 

Kira gives Quark a few well-placed threats, and the droop of Quark’s ears are properly apologetic even as he rolls his eyes.  Quark wriggles a bit under her firm grasp, and, across the bar, a certain something wells up inside Odo.

 

What if it were Odo holding Quark down, that scoundrel bent down over the bar beneath him and--

 

Then, Kira lets Quark go, who scowls and scampers off.  

 

She picks the mug back up and cups it in her hands.  

 

There's a strange tingling in Odo’s lower abdomen.  It's not quite hunger, or at least not for food, but it is similar.  

 

It's closer to…. longing.

 

But for what?

 

Kira breathes in the hot drink before taking a sip, her face softening into bliss.  She only lingers a moment before stalking back out the door with the mug, but that moment serves as a brief respite in her frustrating day, refreshing and reenergizing her for the work ahead.

 

Odo considers.  

 

Ingesting a favorite liquid does seem like one of the more innocuous forms of humanoid pleasures.  Perhaps he shouldn’t completely dismiss the practical benefits of frivolous practices.  Rather than being an unnecessary distraction, perhaps it would behoove Odo to find a beverage that nourishes his spirit as well as his body.

 

Perhaps Quark, for once in his miserable profit-mongering life, is right.

 

\------

 

“So then I noticed that the calibration for the detector array was off by several degrees, and when I had the Chief here inspect the conduits, he thought they might have a cable or two missing, but it’s hard to tell --” Jadzia holds up one hand as if to pause the conversation, and with the other shovels a large fork of what appear to be noodles in her mouth.

 

Odo waits, eyes widening in horror as the wriggle of the remaining food on her plate catches his eye.  His stomach flips at the thought of how they would feel in his own mouth, and he takes a tentative sip of his vanilla nutritional shake.  Hopefully she doesn’t drop any onto the carpet in his security office during this meeting.

 

“Do ya have to eat that now?” O’Brien says, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair across from Odo.  “I still have four plasma manifolds to purge this afternoon, and one of the holosuites is acting up again.  I’d like to get this over with.”

 

“Gagh’s only good when it’s still live!” Jadzia protests, slurping down her mouthful.  “And it’s a working lunch.  Just because you scarfed down your field rations on the walk over doesn’t mean I’m not obliged to enjoy my food.”

 

Odo winces as one of the Klingon worms pokes out between Jadzia’s lips, before she swallows it down.  “I would also prefer that this meeting proceeds in a succinct manner.  Chief, can you let me know what you found while Lieutenant Dax -- eats?”

 

“If you can call it that.  I say it’s not eating if you don’t chew.”

 

“Do you want a bite?  It’s a special shipment of Torgud gagh, straight from Q’onos.”  Jadzia hold out a fork of squirming fleshy bodies, first to O’Brien then Odo, who lurches away from it.  

 

A wave of its pungent vinegary smell hits Odo’s nose, and his stomach gives a violent lurch.  Olfactory input has no analogue in his Changeling form, so he’s particularly sensitive to its effect.  One of the most annoying aspects of humanoid senses is the inability to turn them off when they become inconvenient.  He holds his nose and clenches his gut as nausea rises, his own body rebelling against him even as he reassures it he’ll stick to his bland shake.  

 

“Please --” Odo rasps, not sure what he needs to stop from vomiting.

 

“Constable --”  O’Brien starts, head tilted in concern.

 

Just then the doors to the office burst open, letting in a certain Ferengi bartender, a satchel slung across his chest, and a cloud of musky, eye-watering cologne.

 

This has the effect of both drowning out the gagh smell and turning Odo’s nausea into a brief coughing fit.

 

“Guess who’s luckier than a blinko ball gambler with a hidden magnet!”

 

“Quark--”  The Chief says with exasperation at the interruption.

 

“Quark!” Jadzia admonishes, jumping up to hand Odo her glass of water.

 

“Quuaaark!” Odo growls, his throat rough from the coughing.

 

“That’s right,” Quark says with mild surprise, glancing around at all of them then at the abandoned plate of gagh on the desk.  “What, are you having some kind of party in here, Odo?”

 

“We’re busy, Quark.”

 

“When you didn’t stop by the bar for your twelve-hundred hour rounds, I didn’t expect this.  You, eating live food, even if it is Klingon -- who knew you could still surprise me.  Maybe it’ll be tube grubs next.”  

 

Quark beams at Odo with sarcastic admiration. Odo’s stomach flutters, though not entirely in an unpleasant manner, and he scowls, hoping the nausea doesn’t return.  He can’t smell the gagh anymore, at least.

 

“More importantly, what is that rancid stench, Quark?”  Jadzia pinches her nose.  

 

“Bigger Lobed Businessman number five.”  Odo folds his arms and squints at Quark with suspicion.  “Although he’s wearing a bucket more of it than usual.”

 

“You noticed!  You and all the fe-males, I hope.”  Quark smiles at Odo.  Odo smirks at Quark.  Jadzia raises an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them.

 

“How could I not, with this infernal nose?  Yet another sense I had no need for as a Changeling, and still don’t,” Odo says, then looms closer to Quark.  He takes a deep breath of the spicy scent, to further drown out any lingering gagh smell of course.  “As if paying five slips of latinum for a pleasing odor could possibly attract you a mate.”

 

“You think it’s pleasing?”  Quark lights up and takes a step towards Odo.  “Good, because if you don't ruin the mood, I have a date planned tonight.  I’m hoping to merge accounts, if you catch my drift.  To bump worms with a real knockout.”

 

“Oh, really,” Odo scoffs with a smug mocking smile.  His stomach flutters again, this time with a rush, like he’s expecting something but he doesn’t know what yet.  Did he eat the gagh and not remember?

 

“Well, I don’t have a date yet, per say,” Quark says.  He fidgets a bit, but his eyes smirk up at Odo the same as ever.  Like he’s trying to pull a trick on Odo and is eager to enact the punchline.  

 

Odo’s heart pounds in his chest, and he doesn’t know why.  Nothing’s changed.

 

“Not yet,” Odo repeats, his head a little fuzzy.

 

O’Brien clears his throat to speak, but Jadzia elbows him, watching Quark and Odo like they were an old Earth soap opera.

 

Quark leans in towards Odo like he’s telling a secret, his breath brushing Odo’s cheek.  “I’ll have my pick of lovely fe-males, tonight at Ensign Zhao’s bachelorette party at the bar.  Or at least if that one holo-obsessed sweaty wreck of a hew-mon officer doesn’t crash the event like with the Risians last week.”  

 

Quark shifts out of Odo’s personal space, his smirk a mask of lightness, hiding inner tension.  “Some males just don’t know how to relax and enjoy themselves.  Point is, by the end of the evening, someone will be stroking these lobes.”

 

“You will, you mean,” O’Brien mumbles under his breath.  Jadzia twists her mouth with disappointment.

 

“And they would want to… couple, with you,” Odo scoffs loudly.  The tickle of the derisive reaction is satisfying in his throat, an unexpected sensation.  

 

Quark scowls and throws his hands up, his playfulness morphing into a bitter anger fast as a Changeling into a hlinkabeast.  “Who wouldn’t!  What blood-pumping fully functioning person in their right mind would be so uptight and --”

 

This time it’s Jadzia rubbing her temples.  “Was there a reason you came by, Quark?  If I’m going to make that party tonight, we have to finish this meeting.”  

 

“Please,” O’Brien mutters, leaning back in his chair as if hoping to give himself up to the void.

 

Quark gives them a sour look, then brandishes a thermos out from the sack he’s wearing.  He heaves a sigh and plasters on a large grin.  “Ta-daa!  Your lunch, Odo, because no one wants a repeat of last week.  I didn't know it was possible for you to get more unpleasant, but all the grumping your empty stomach caused cut profits by ten percent!  People come to Quark's to have fun, not get lectured for their food choices.”

 

“You don’t have to bring me lunch every time I don’t stop by your bar.  Sometimes I have other places to be,” Odo says.  “I am perfectly capable of feeding myself, Quark.”

 

Or at least he is now that Dr Bashir dredged up a bland enough supplement for Odo to obtain nutrients without having to risk replicator recipe roulette.  (It doesn’t help that he never knows if it’s the particular dish itself that doesn’t agree with him, or another instance of equipment gone awry.)  

 

Incredible how the discomfort that comes from ignoring bodily processes can be worse than indulging them, though.

 

“If you say so… But, remember my bet.  I need to addict you to a favorite refreshment, like the rest of these chumps.”  

 

“This chump wouldn't mind if you delivered her a lunch and synthale every day,” Dax chuckles.

 

“Odo won’t drink synthale.”  Quark rolls his eyes and pulls out a bottle and glass from his satchel.  He pours out a brown syrupy fizzing liquid, and when his passes the drink, his hand brushes Odo’s, sending sparks through Odo’s nerves.  Odo shivers.  “Here, try this.  You like hew-mons.”

 

“I don’t like most people, least of all you.  I tolerate humans,” Odo snaps.

 

He watches the bubbles fizz and pop in the glass, hesitant.  Quark watches Odo, bristling with expectation, and that weird feeling, that longing, bubbles up in Odo’s incomprehensible humanoid stomach again.  

 

Perhaps it’s thirst.

 

Odo takes sip of the beverage, then at once dribbles it back into the cup. He shudders.  “I don’t tolerate this.”

 

Quark twists his mouth, shoulders slumping with too much disappointment for someone so chipper about supposedly getting laid tonight.  “It was worth a try.”  

 

Quark yanks the cup from Odo as he turns towards the door.  Then he stops.   With a salesman’s grin, Quark hands the cup to O’Brien, who grimaces.  

 

“On the house!”

 

The root beer, of course, remains undrunk, recycled back into the replicator, as is the rest of Dax’s gagh.  But as they continue discussing conduit malfunctions, the cologne lingers under Odo’s nose long after Quark leaves.  

 

He’s filled with an odd sense of deflation -- like an uncorked soda, his bubbles popping flat one by one.

 

\------

 

_Up, down!_

 

Odo expands his chest, inflating those twin caverns within, then exhales, and repeats.  

 

_Up, down!_

 

His skin is rank with the excretion of all manner of water and salt.  

 

_One, two, three!_

 

He ignores the screaming pain of his limbs in favor of continuing to flex and contract them.  

 

_Jump!  Jump!  Jump!_

 

“Thirty minutes have now passed,” the computer chimes.  

 

Odo drops at once onto the floor of his quarters, extends his legs in front of him for a cooldown, and wipes sweat from his eyes as he stretches.  

 

It took one pinched nerve from overly rigid posture and three pulled leg muscles from chasing miscreants for Odo to admit that if he’s going to be trapped in this monoform, he may as well take care of it.   So, reluctantly, he swapped out his shapeshifter jungle gym for a calisthenics routine.   

 

He had the option of attending Worf’s morning class, of course, or choosing from a variety of vigorous holosuite programs.  However, just the thought of that experience is enough to give Odo (metaphorical) hives.  Just what he doesn’t need: a class full of more experienced humanoids gawking at his fumbling gracelessness.  Or, prophets forbid, Odo all hot and tired and sweaty, walking through Quark’s crowded bar to the holosuites and too aware of his inadequacies.

 

It should be comforting to Odo that everyone has a body, and everyone has their awkward moments dealing with them.  (Quark for example fainted twice in the past week: first when his stocks in razorbeetle puss, a rare aphrodisiac, doubled in value; and then when they crashed to worthlessness, because the puss spread an outbreak of genital hives.)  But no other humanoid is also contending with a physical exile from their true nature, and Odo doesn’t need all the ways he falls short on display for everyone else.

 

And so, Odo suffers alone with this inconvenience, deliberately causing himself pain with the assured goal that he’ll become stronger and healthier.  Now that he’s a fragile humanoid, he’s all too aware of his own delicate mortality.  What’s forty minutes a day of suffering compared to preventing myriad afflictions that threaten to end his existence?  

 

After a thorough sonic shower to scrub himself clean of the rich odor that physical activity insists on producing, Odo settles in with as a pre-bedtime reward: _Blessed Heroes of the Orb_ , volume 6.

 

He may not be able to shapeshift, but at least with access to the Bajoran library server he can escape into a new life each night.

 

For a few hours, Odo can be Lun Salet, the most valiant and formidable of Kai Ahrter’s inner circle, who travels from town to town saving the Prophets’ orbs (and pious maidens) from the claws of “kardallian” lizard monsters.  Kira finds them silly, and Bashir was quick to scoff at the novels’ literary merit -- and recommending his own new holoprogram instead -- but Odo enjoys the straightforward righteousness of the adventures.

 

_“Thank you so much for saving me from that monster!  How can I ever repay you?” Lady Guen threw her arms around Lun’s shoulders, her warm breasts pressing against his muscular chest._

 

_“I did it for you, my dearest Guen Avir.  Your noble beauty may be promised to the esteemed Kai, but it is I who love you wholly,” Lun exclaimed._

 

_Guen stroked his firm biceps.  Sweat ran down her brow.  Her fine yarn tunic clinged to her chest, outlining the soft feminine curves.  Her hard nipples poked through the thin knit fabric.  She smiled a mysterious haracat smile.  The tension between them was as sharp as Lun’s blade._

 

_Lun might get a proper reward from this adventure, something more than the Kai’s blessing._

 

Odo’s heart rate thumps steady along with Lun’s, no doubt still elevated from the exercise.  There's that strange sensation in his lower abdomen.

 

Ah, thirst.

 

Odo takes a sip of water.

 

_“I believe a proper gratitude is due to you, hero of my heart, no matter my betrothal.”  She undid the first two clasps of her tunic.  Her breasts strained the fabric, ready to fall out.  A bead of sweat dropped down her neck, down the exposed luscious skin._

 

_Lun’s ridges below became engorged.  Blood pounded in his head.  They mustn’t!  It would be a betrayal of the Prophets!_

 

_“Your beauty is too great to be ignored!”_

 

_“Oh, strong heroic Salet!  How I have longed for you, all these years!”_

 

_Lun, having saved the Lady ten times over, could stand it no longer and breached that unbearable gap.  They kiss, mouths meeting in a passionate embrace, hotter than the fires of the pah wraiths._

 

_Lun’s manly sword ached with need for her._

 

The feeling of want travels from Odo’s stomach down lower.  He takes another sip of water; it doesn't help.

 

Odo adjusts in his seat, and his pajama pants fit snugger than they do several minutes ago, brushing against his --

 

Oh.

 

_Lun freed Guen’s fleshy orbs from their knitted enclosure, holding their weight in his calloused hero’s hands.  His tongue probed her mouth, tasting her sweetness.  He plunged his hand down below, grasping at her sex.  It dripped with slick fluid, down her inner thighs like a melted Jumja stick._

 

_She wanted him, badly._

 

_At once, he thrust his aching staff into her, like he had his sword into the karellian beast.  His throbbing manhood pulsed within her warm cave_

 

Odo drops the padd, letting it clatter on the floor.

 

He has no ridges to become engorged, but otherwise...

 

Despite his dry mouth, Odo knows he isn’t dehydrated, but instead subjected to yet another cruel joke of the Founders at his expense.

 

(If even the noble Lun cannot resist the bodily urges that would compel him to throw away his integrity, to betray his Kai without a second thought,  then what hope does Odo -- who can’t even tell when he’s thirsty -- have at maintaining control over such peculiarities of the humanoid condition?)

 

Odo takes another sonic shower, on its highest-pitch setting this time.

 

\------

 

In Odo’s investigations of the malfunctions, a trend emerges.  

 

At about 1800 hours almost every day, half an hour after the end of the first crew shift, like clockwork gone awry something breaks: the lights flicker; a holosuite goes off line, gravity lightens by seven percent; a replicator spits out nothing but medieval human battle armor.  

 

A pattern means that someone in particular is behind the malfunctions, someone with a motive.

 

Deliberate sabotage.

 

Determined to catch whoever it is in the act, Odo stages a stakeout starting an hour prior.  He positions deputies around likely target locations based on past attacks while he himself paces the Promenade to oversee all comings and goings.

 

Half past 1700, the only out of the ordinary thing is the presence of two seated boys on the second level.

 

“Hmmph!” Odo says, looming over them.  “Back to this old spot.  Well I’m not amused.”

 

“Just for old times sake, Constable!  We won’t linger too long, we promise!”  Nog hurriedly explains, hiding something behind his back, while Jake nods along.  

 

Odo narrows his eyes; since Nog came back from the Academy, they haven’t engaged in such childish pursuits as loitering about along public thoroughfares.

 

Nog continues speaking, but then the rest of his words fade away as Odo catches sight of Quark darting out from the bar.

 

It’s before peak dinner hours, and thus about the time Quark spends harassing passersby into visiting his bar and grill for after work entertainment.  A meek-looking Bajoran woman politely declines Quark’s advances.  

 

Wasting no time or offense at her rejection, Quark darts to the next traveller with his sales pitch.  A tall human in an operations Starfleet uniform mops his sweaty forehead, trying (and failing) to fade into a cluster of much shorter Andorians before Quark can pull him into a conversation.  No such luck, however, and something about this niggles at the back of Odo’s mind as he watches intently at what happens next--

 

“So you see, we have to sit here,” Jake says, overly loud.  Odo wrenches his attention away long enough to catch a meaningful glance passing between the two friends.  “Nowhere else has the proper view!  It’s essential for--”

 

Odo nods absently, his mind still focused elsewhere, and turns back to watch the bar entrance.  Has Quark always been this wiggly?

 

The man never stops moving -- his hands flicking this way, shoulders shimmying that way as he flirts and cajoles his way towards expanding his customer base.  

 

Odo tilts his head, mesmerized.

 

“Oh!  If you’re not convinced we can tell you about -- ”  Jake launches into an involved tale, as Nog nods along, but Odo pays no more attention to it than he does the buzzing of the station generators.

 

There’s something in the shape of Quark’s body, the way he moves, that fascinates Odo.  It both calms and stokes that feeling in Odo’s gut (in his chest, his skin, his…. elsewhere).  

 

Perhaps it’s a purely physical reaction.  

 

Perhaps anyone that Odo paid as close attention to as that wiggly little troublemaker would induce a similar feeling.

 

(But Kira doesn’t.)

 

Odo returns to that niggling at the back of his brain -- clues hanging right there, enticing him to connect.  Why is Quark personally present to advertise on the Promenade?  Shouldn’t he have sent a couple dabo girls out to draw customers instead?  Wouldn’t that be more effective?

 

Unless it’s because Quark wants to oversee a scheme he’s set in motion.  Unless he’s awaiting a disruption to distract from whatever plot he’s up to now.

 

Quark has his arm slung around the tall human officer from before, and the way Quark’s hand drops to the small of the man’s back as he tries to convince the human to enter the bar, awakens something in Odo…

 

Suspicion perhaps.

 

“And that’s when the Gorn cadet took his pitcher of eelsblood and dumped it all over Nog.  Now does that seem civil to you?” Jake gestures violently, filled with the drama of his tale.  

 

Nog waves his hand in front of Odo’s face, following Odo’s line of vision with a nervous look.  “Odo?”

 

“Hmph?”  Odo reluctantly tears his eyes away, back to the boys.

 

“Is something going on with you?”

 

“What? No, nothing,” Odo explains, flustered.

 

(And when has Odo, ever in his life, been flustered?  He is the stoic constable, unflappable in the pursuit of justice!  This situation is untenable.)

 

“Have you two noticed anything suspicious with him?”  Odo jerks his head towards where Quark and the man stand.

 

“With him?”  Nog’s voice rises in pitch a bit.  “Uh uh uh -- we don’t know him!  We -- he’s new, we were just --”

 

Jake gives Nog an annoyed look.  “What Nog means is, the Lieutenant is new to the station, fresh off a starship, so we don’t know him well.  But as long-time residents, we like to take it upon ourselves to be a welcoming committee of sorts --”

 

“Not the human, I meant Quark,” Odo grumbles.

 

Jake and Nog both relax.  “Oh!  Of course!  Well --”

 

Then, Quark glances over towards where they’re standing.  The officer he had been talking to seems to have detached himself from the situation, nowhere to be seen.  Quark brightens into a sly smirk as he makes eye contact with Odo.  There’s a rush through Odo, and his heart palpitates, then falls as Quark darts back into the bar.

 

“So do you mind if we hang out here a bit longer, then?”  Jake bats his eyes in a plea.  “To restore Nog’s pride?”

 

“Yes, yes, fine,” Odo says, and wanders off, displaced disappointment pooling in his gut.

 

Because having Quark in eye sight is useful for justice, of course.  That’s why Odo’s become even more fixated than usual.

 

Odo tallies up the known clues in an attempt to refocus on his investigation.  The malfunctions have been centered in and around the bar, disproportionate to equipment dispersal on the station.  This proximity could be due to using social traffic as cover.  It could also be because the local proprietor is in on the action; it wouldn’t be the first time Quark risked his own assets as leverage for a nebulously profitable deal.

 

Perhaps Quark is unknowingly harboring a Dominion spy, aiding someone he thinks is a run-of-the-mill black-marketeer.  Or perhaps the spy is blackmailing Quark into the sabotage.

 

Odo better take a closer look..

 

Just as Odo passes by the second floor bar entrance to track him down, Quark pops out with a pint glass containing a thick white liquid.

 

“Try this one, Jadzia was convinced you’d like it.”  Quark’s hand brushes Odo’s, transferring not only the glass but a rush of heat that flares through Odo’s hand to the rest of his body.

 

Odo almost fumbles the cup, liquid sloshing up the sides, as he gapes between Quark and his own hand.  Back at their “spot” Jake and Nog exchange glances.

 

Quark scowls.  “Clumsy!  Careful with the goods, or I’ll charge you.”

 

“What,” Odo croaks, staring at Quark, who waits expectantly.  All his blood flow seems to have redirected from his brain to the rest of his body; he doesn’t have a better response.

 

“Well?  Don’t gape at me like that, drink it!”  Quark gripes.  “I don’t have all day.”

 

Odo sniffs at it, swirling it around the cup, then takes a sip--

 

And gags.  

 

The drink is thicker than is usually the trend with beverages, viscous and downright nasty.  Definitely not something that’s supposed to be inside humanoids or at least not at this point in its chemical decomposition.  

 

Odo lunges towards Quark, glaring at him down his nose.  “Quaaaark!  If this is your idea of distracting me from my investigation, I will shut down your bar for serving spoiled goods --”

 

“It’s called ‘skim milk’!  From a Bajoran hlinkabeast!”  Quark shoots his hands up into a cringe, bending his neck back to look up at Odo with a knee-jerk nervous grin.  “It wasn’t my idea to squeeze liquid out of a grass-eating quadruped.  Not like wholesome slugs… I think it’s disgusting!  Blame hew-mons, poisoning the Quadrant with their repulsive ideas!  As a sorta hew-mon, I thought you’d enjoy it, honest, just ask Dax!  It’s the truth for once.”

 

Odo scans Quark’s face.  While Quark does seem genuinely surprised at Odo’s reaction to the “milk”, he still may be hiding something.

 

Come to think of it, ever since Odo returned from the Link, Quark has been acting weird around him.  More on edge, but in other regards also more earnest, as strange as it is to apply such a word to Quark.  More prone to unnecessary social gestures, like bringing him drinks or listening patiently to his rants even during the lunch rush, or the way he _smiles_ at Odo…

 

It’s disconcerting.

 

Perhaps there is no Dominion spy; perhaps Quark _is_ the Changeling infiltrator.

 

Odo becomes filled with a red rage, a blinding betrayal at the thought that the Dominion would use his familiarity with Quark against him.  But it’s also mixed with that rush of expectation in his gut, a physical sensation Odo can’t quite connect to an emotion, displaced from his paranoid conclusions.

 

“What’s your angle?  Are you trying to poison me, get me out of the way?  What’s your plan?”  Odo rapid-fires questions, losing the rigid control he would normally bring to a interrogation.  

 

He grabs Quark by the collar with his free hand, more roughly than he normally would, and pins him against the nearest wall.  Ostensibly this is to scare the truth out of Quark -- as well as release what might be loathing that flares up within Odo -- but the proximity to the small cringing Ferengi only makes the reeling whirl of emotion within worse.

 

“It’s healthy, fully of protein, mildly flavored -- although it may have fermented in the transport to the station…  I can’t tell, I don’t drink the stuff!  I only have your best interests, as a potential customer, in mind!  Honest!”

 

“You’ve never been honest a day in your life,” Odo spits out, by force of habit as he isn’t actually paying attention to the words.  “Show yourself!”

 

Quark whimpers, such a deeply pathetic sound, and suspicions of any traitorous plot that Quark might be involved in dissolve into nothingness.  The Founders wouldn’t stoop to impersonating such a wretched creature as Quark; if nothing else, they have dignity.  

 

Quark wriggles slightly in his grasp, and now [Odo is very aware](https://ds9shameblog.tumblr.com/post/162148300604/another-exciting-edition-of-odo-was-human-for) of just how close Quark is, how near the small squirming body is to his own.  The temperature controls feel as if they’ve raised ten degrees, and Odo’s heart pounds like he’s in the middle of his interminable burpees regimen.  

 

Suddenly, there’s not enough air and entirely too much space between them.

 

Odo gulps.  He leans in closer.  Quark’s face softens from an alarmed cringe into confused contemplation.  

 

“Are you --?”  Quark squints at Odo, then shakes his head as if ridding himself of a thought.  “I have better things to do than be persecuted for bringing you a complimentary drink.  You can’t detain me any longer.”

 

A loud roar erupts from the first level.  A Gorn in a Starfleet cadet’s uniform flashes his mouthful of teeth up at where Jake and Nog sit laughing uproariously.  He reaches behind his head to clean off an enormous spitwad and fling it on the ground.

 

Deputy Lintoff -- a young Bajoran with an admirable sense of initiative -- runs past Odo to reprimand the boys, while other deputies emerge onto the scene down below.

 

(With the Promenade crowds now focused on the Gorn cadet yelling indignantly on the first level, the tall lieutenant slips right past Quark and Odo into the second level bar entrance, this time with an armful of odds and ends, unnoticed by all.)

 

Odo, still clutching Quark as this happens, drops him without ceremony.  He presses the back of his hand against his own flushed cheeks.

 

A Changeling infiltrator wouldn’t have caused _that_ reaction.

 

Quark brushes out several imaginary wrinkles on his suit, glances over at Nog and Jake winking to each other with proud grins even as Lintoff lectures them, then gives Odo an appraising look.  

 

“You don’t look so good.  And that was very rude, even for you.  If you’re infected with a Livrian brain fever, don’t even think about inflicting it on my customers.  That’s basic manners for solids, not that you care.”

 

Odo rolls his eyes and stalks off to the infirmary without another word.

 

\------

 

“Doctor this body is malfunctioning.  I need your analysis.”

 

Odo storms into Bashir’s office, heart pounding with a mix of panic and whatever it is his rebellious body is doing to him.

 

Bashir looks up from the padd he's concentrating on, one eyebrow raised, but doesn't stand up. “You mean, you’re not feeling well?  We went over this -- there are many complex systems within the solid body, a constellation of organs and interconnected processes.  It won’t feel the same from day to day, or even moment to moment, and there’s not much I can do about that.”

 

“Doctor, please, I don’t have time for a lecture about the wonders of humanoid anatomy.  This body is interfering with my work.  I can’t concentrate or think straight, and all I have left to work with is my intellect!”

 

“Alright alright.” Bashir puts down the padd to finally give Odo his full attention.  “Well, what are your symptoms then?”

 

Odo pauses for a moment.  “Things,” he spits out between clenched teeth, “keep acting up.  And I don't want them to.  There doesn’t appear to be a connected cause.  Other than that the Founders clearly wanted me to suffer.”

 

“That’s what I’m here to find out, the cause.”  Bashir waits for a moment before realizing Odo has completed his explanation.  “If, uh, you can’t be anymore specific, I’ll take your biostats and see if there are any red flags.”

 

Bashir pulls out a tricorder and scans, and Odo refrains from further emphasizing to the doctor the urgency of his condition.  “Well… your heart rate was increased, but it’s been slowing down the longer you’re here.  The increased blood flow to your skin is likely making you feel warm, but your internal temperature is normal, so it’s not a fever or infection… Oh my, this can’t be right, your hormones --”

 

Julian stops abruptly in his scans, and to the Constable's horror his face breaks out into what can only be termed a large “shit-eating” grin.

 

“Constable…” Julian insinuates, and Odo doesn't like the tone of his voice, “exactly what were you doing right before you came here?”

 

“I was patrolling for an investigation.  Attempting to do my job.”

 

“Be more specific.  Where were you, what did you do… who were you with?”  Julian waggles his eyebrows with a knowing smirk that Odo really doesn't like the look of.

 

“No one.”  Odo stiffens.

 

“Oh really… Did you… speak to anyone?  Have… physical contact?”

 

“I fail to see how this is at all relevant to what might be Livrian brain fever--”

 

“Constable, you have no biological evidence of pathogens that would cause--”

 

“Fine.  Jake and Nog were acting suspicious, but I had to redirect my attentions to threaten Quark.  He attempted to poison me, I yelled at him.  All very usual, Doctor… then a Starfleet cadet was assaulted while I was preoccupied.  The security team had to deviate from our original mission to deal with that, but since I’m obviously of no use in this condition, I came here.”

 

Julian’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.  “You were…. with Quark?  Roughing him up a bit I expect?”

 

Odo squints at the odd phrasing.  “Putting the fear of justice into him, scaring him into letting loose any relevant information.  Nothing out of the ordinary, Doctor, except this disobedient humanoid body led me to leap to inaccurate conclusions, and I botched the interrogation.  Now if I contracted an illness from that… that…. filthy sleazy slippery loathsome little scoundrel, why I, I!”

 

“Ah,” Julian’s succinct exclamation cuts Odo off.  He watches Odo for a moment as if choosing his words carefully. When he speaks it's with a deliberate gentleness, and a conscious attempt to keep that smug grin off his face.  “Your body will take some getting used to, but I assure you, this type of.... reaction… is all perfectly normal.  Well, mostly.  Take a closer look at those instructional pamphlets I gave you before, and you’ll figure it out.  My professional diagnosis is that you are functional and fit for duty.”

 

“If I were I wouldn’t be here!  Something is wrong, Bashir, and at the very least I need a hypospray to address the symptoms--”

 

“It’s _Doctor_ Bashir.  You’re here because of my medical expertise, and my recommended treatment is to… pay attention when you’re around Quark.”  Bashir winks at him and raises his raktajino mug, as if for a toast.  “I highly doubt a libidinal suppressant would be in your best interest.  That’s all I’ll say, man to man.”

 

Odo rolls his eyes.

 

Even though he’s ostensibly one of them now, Odo will never understand why solids insist on being so obnoxious.

 

\------ 

 

That evening, however, and the whole next day, Odo barely has a spare moment to relax, let alone heed Bashir’s dubious advice.

 

The lights go out on the entire second level of the Promenade, sending the engineers on a wild targ chase to track down the issue, which leaves the security team to run around keeping in check the naturally occurring seedy elements of DS9 before they can take advantage of the lower visibility and confusion.

 

Once this issue is fixed, Odo spends the afternoon shuffling through his careful catalogues of security reports, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery.  

 

_Stardate 49969.11: holosuite #2 electric conduits overheat, no injuries, two customers interviewed.  Stardate 49969.12: brownout on habitat ring 2, one minor theft, ten resident complaints filed.  Stardate 49969.14: replicators in Ops spit out metal plated clothing instead of engineering tools..._

 

He drowns himself in the minutiae of all the available evidence until his vision swims, the typeface becoming bleary and incomprehensible.  Odo tries to stand up and his knees buckle underneath him, all his muscles cramping from sitting in the same position for -- he asks the computer -- _five hours straight_.  Outside his office doors, he notes several regular shift Starfleet personnel dressed in late evening casual wear.   

 

This would be an appropriate time to go back to his quarters, exercise, then decompress with his novel and get some rest before trying again tomorrow.  However the thought of spending any more time staring at nebulous words on a padd screen fills Odo with dread; he couldn't concentrate on it if he tried.

 

He’s also not all that eager to pick up where he left off in _Blessed Heroes of the Orb_ , and the altogether too stimulating reaction he had to the latest scene.  His other option, prophets forbid, is the stack of Federation pamphlets Bashir forwarded him.  Equally unappealing.

 

On the other hand, Odo hasn’t been able to stop by the bar at all today, even for his baseline daily surveillance. Perhaps that type of stimulus would do him good, maybe even turn up a new lead for the case.  

 

(He also hasn’t spoken to another person -- or anything outside of the walls of his office -- since lunch.  There’s a particular ache inside he associates with his “childhood”, with long hours alone in his test tube wondering what was missing.  An ache that bothering a certain person at the bar tends to ease, not that Odo would admit it.)

 

And so Odo parks himself in a booth, pretending this is an adequate excuse to avoid confronting the reading material in his room.

 

He’s stirring his tap water with a straw, idly categorizing potential security threats in the merrymaking crowds, when the proprietor shimmies up next to him.

 

“Odo!” Quark exclaims, his face cracking with a wide grin.  Odo’s body betrays him as his stomach flips at the sight.  “Normally if I haven’t seen you in a whole day, I start checking my inventory -- stools in odd places, extra glasses, that sort of thing.  But, well.”

 

Quark gestures at Odo and his conspicuous lack of shapeshifting, and Odo rolls his eyes.  “If you’ve come just to irritate me, Quark, I --”

 

“On the contrary!  I’ve made a bet with Morn, that I’d be the one to introduce you to your first humanoid pleasure --”

 

Odo harrumphs, but Quark carries on.

 

“-- and this time I think I’ve got it.  One cup of chamomile tea, unsweetened.  Now, if you could smile in Morn’s direction when you drink it, I’d really appreciate it.  I have three strips of latinum riding on this one.”

 

Odo sighs, but decides to play along.  Perhaps watching Quark lose money will cheer him up.  

 

As Quark eagerly looks on, Odo wraps his hands around the offered mug.  It’s warm and pleasant to hold, and the humid herbed air rising from it is comforting.  Odo takes a cautious sip.  To his surprise, the drink tastes mostly like water, but with a light slightly bitter flavor.  The heat from the tea warms him from the inside out, and unbidden Odo’s face softens at the experience.

 

When Odo opens his eyes, he finds Quark gazing at him with a strange soft look of his own.  

 

It doesn’t suit his ugly face.  

 

Odo contorts his own face back into a scowl -- his lips must have curled into a smile by accident, as if he feels … happy?  

 

He’s content, perhaps, that some things never change.  

 

Odo may be stuck in a new form; his investigative prowess may be handicapped by this;  his escapist Bajoran novels may not offer their usual respite; he may even appear to briefly _enjoy_ a product from the bar... but no matter what, there Quark will be, always willing to gamble at an interaction with Odo, despite Odo’s best efforts at holding himself apart.

 

 _Pay attention around Quark_ , Bashir had said.  How infuriating.

 

Odo stands up to loom over Quark with the intention of scaring him off to attend to other customers.

 

“What are you looking at?”  Odo growls.  “Just because you didn’t poison me this time, doesn’t mean you win your bet.  Or that I won’t bust you for gambling on station members’ personal lives.”

 

“Nothing, I’m not looking at anything,” Quark says quickly, but he doesn’t retreat from Odo’s advance, instead blinking up at him, inches away.  His mouth hangs open.  His pink tongue swipes up to lick his lips.  “I’m glad you enjoyed the tea.  My profits depend on happy customers, of course.”

 

“Of course,” Odo says.  “Not that I did enjoy it.”  Something in his chest tugs, like it’s trying to escape.  

 

“Of course not,” Quark says, breathless, staring into Odo’s eyes.

 

Odo’s heartbeat rises, heat flushing through him, but he’s reluctant to retreat.

 

A thoughtful gift, a persistent pursuit -- it’s not too unlike Kai Ahrter’s courtship with Guen in his novel...

 

He glances down at Quark’s mouth, the lips glistening slightly.  

 

What if?  

 

Quark draws a sharp breath through his nose.  Odo closes his eyes and leans in, his body yearning, pulling him like gravity towards Quark, and Odo breathes in deep in anticipation.  A subtle smell of something swampy wafts up.  Odo’s never smelled Quark before, or at least not what lurks beneath the pungent cloud of cologne that usually surrounds him, and he wants more.  

 

His body instinctively reacts to Quark's proximity.  

 

He draws closer --

 

“There are battles to be won at this hour!  By true warriors!” A large Klingon yells out near the holosuites.  Odo and Quark are interrupted by the Klingon shoving a red-faced human dressed in a rough-hewn costume down the stairs towards the Promenade.  “It is my turn now, you quivering petaQ!”

 

“It’s - it’s - I wasn’t done, please!” The human squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath.  The Klingon growls, and the human flinches slightly.  “Or or - I can leave.  it’s - that’s fine, I - I - I -”

 

The human waves his hands in a twitchy, nervous gesture as he backs out of the bar, before the constable can intervene.  The Klingon spits on the floor (Quark winces) at the human’s cowardice and disappears back up into the holosuite, satisfied.

 

“Nothing more to see, everyone.  Carry on,” Odo rasps at the gawking customers.  They settle down back to their drinks, and so does Odo.

 

“Never get between a Klingon and his holosuite time, you’d think people would have figured that out by now,” Quark comments.  

 

Odo nods, but has nothing to add.  There’s an awkward pause between them, and Odo doesn’t know what to do so he sips at his tea.  Quark watches Odo, continuing to hover, lips twitching with unspoken questions.  

 

Whatever was about to happen before the drama, Odo wouldn’t mind recapturing, but now the moment has passed.  

 

Finally, Quark blinks, his eyelids a rapid flutter.  “If that’s all for you, then.  This one will go on your tab,” he says, small and lacking the expected smugness.

 

Odo nods.  Quark walks away in a distracted daze, almost colliding with his waiters and then into Morn.  Morn glares at Odo, points to his own beady eyes with two fingers, then points those fingers back at Odo, scowling.  Quark continues his bar-tending, glancing back at Odo every so often, with strange pensive looks.

 

Odo lingers at his booth, the comforting heat of the mug like a caress on his lips, the warmth of the liquid flooding down his throat.

 

The warmth that Quark gave him.

 

\------

 

Alone with himself once again later that night, Odo lies in bed and stares at the ceiling.  

 

It’s not an unfamiliar situation in that regard; he’s lied awake for many a sleepless night since the Link.  

 

At first, it was the experience of falling asleep itself that kept him awake.  Odo had never lost consciousness before, when regenerating as a shapeshifter.  To engage in the act intentionally -- to shut down his senses and hand over his alert mind to the night -- felt like too much like loss of control.  Plus, he hadn’t anticipated how literal the phrase “falling asleep” was or the vertigo accompanying the crash from alertness into dreamy oblivion.  

 

The whole practice is disconcerting to say the least, but the humanoid body has its needs, of which Odo has no choice but to comply.

 

To overcome the insomnia, the fear of losing bodily control, Bashir had suggested a human ritual of counting fluffy Terran quadrupeds for mental distraction.  But Odo has his own monotonous recitations to lull himself to sleep: the details of security reports, still fresh in his mind from work.  

 

_Stardate 49969.11, three possible missing electrical conduits. Stardate 49969.12, two possible missing lighting cables. Stardate 49969.14, seven possible lines of altered replicator codes.  Stardate 49969.15, missing combadge and padds. Stardate 49969.16, missing holoprojector._

 

On a normal night this would do the trick, and Odo would drift off, dreaming of captured criminals, perhaps even waking up with new connections identifying trends in the data.  

 

Tonight, however, Odo’s sleeplessness stems from a different problem than usual, though still of a sensory nature:

 

The phantom scent of damp tea vapor mixing with a swampy musk.  The otherwise soft and comfortable sheets that rub like sandpaper against his oversensitive nerves.  The blood pumping and pooling through him despite his prone state.  That inconvenient organ of his now tenting the blanket.

 

The longing.

 

Odo screws his eyes shut tighter, as if that will block out the unbidden thoughts, and makes a more concerted effort to lull himself to sleep with his casework:

 

_(Means)  Who would know how to tamper with equipment without attracting too much immediate attention?  (Motive) What use would someone have with the odd assortment of missing pieces?_

 

A small wiggly body against him and those open lips and those dark-rimmed eyes locking with Odo’s and--

 

_(Opportunity) Who was present at the appropriate times to have access to all targeted locations?_

 

Quark’s blinking unkissed face, the rising heat inside Odo, the desire…

 

Odo flops over onto his side, with a deep sigh.

 

As any good hard-boiled detective should, Odo pieces together the clues to an obvious, although embarrassing, conclusion -- unfortunately not for the sabotage mystery, however.

 

There’s no ignoring it anymore.  His sexual reaction is an unavoidable problem and directly connected to interactions with Quark.

 

Like the noble Lun, distracted from his heroic integrity by his reaction to the nubile Guen, Odo’s body has chosen to react to, of all possible people, that troublesome Ferengi criminal.

 

Odo had assumed that reports of the intensity of sexual attraction were greatly exaggerated.  This is why solids are so distractible, so easily sidetracked by frivolous personal matters; their bodily urges are unbearable otherwise, overruling their higher minds like tyrants.  He had assumed even as a solid, he would still have better self-control.

 

And yet, here Odo is, unable to engage in a refreshing sleep so he can be competent at work tomorrow, overwhelmed instead by sensations of the flesh.

 

“Computer, time.”

 

“The time is twenty-five hundred hours.  Your alarm is set for six hours and twenty-two minutes from now.”

 

Reluctantly, Odo sorts through a stack of borrowed padds from Bashir, picking out a few key files for research.  If he’s going to be forced to gratify these feelings, as yet another degrading aspect of being a humanoid, he may as well be prepared.

 

Several baffling hours later, Odo emerges from this wealth of conflicting and disturbing information well-informed in the steps and processes of sexual interaction, if not all the technicalities or outcomes.

 

He doesn’t, however, feel any better about putting himself in any of the situations described.

 

On a whim he orders a cup of chamomile tea from his room’s replicator, hoping for comfort.

 

It doesn’t taste the same.


	2. changed for good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuing with the Wicked theme…  
>  __
> 
> [I'm limited.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TZ0pXUb5jVU)  
>  _Just look at me._  
>  _I'm limited._  
>  _And just look at you..._
> 
>  
> 
> _Like a comet pulled from orbit_  
>  _As it passes the sun_  
>  _Like a stream that meets a boulder_  
>  _Halfway through the wood._
> 
>  
> 
> _Who can say if I've been changed for the better._  
>  _But because I knew you..._  
>  _I have been changed for good._
> 
>  
> 
> Notes: There's one scene that I guess would be rated Explicit? but the overall rating I think evens out to Mature, so I kept it there. uhhh, Also perspectives on sex are opinions of the characters and not necessarily my own (that bullshit lizard…). Except of course, to always practice safe consensual sex!

The next morning the computer’s cheery voice startles Odo from a fitful sleep.  Despite his angry backtalk, however, the clock doesn’t roll back for three more hours of rest.  

 

Half-asleep and bleary-eyed, Odo somehow manages not to forget his morning ablutions:

 

First, he drinks his first four hundred milliliters of water for the day, to replenish what he somehow lost by lying in bed and doing nothing.   Then, he has to lacquer his hair into place, brush his teeth, and wash his face -- all requirements to maintain daily consistent appearance and health.  Finally, he has to strip his night clothes and then re-envelop his body into all five required items of clothing -- that the epidermal layer isn’t adequate to protect the body from external stimulus is yet another annoyance.

 

In his grumpy state this takes him a whole thirty-three seconds longer than normal, an unacceptable deviation.

 

As a Changeling, all Odo had to do was pour out of his bucket and shift into his humanoid form.   _Voila_ , as the humans say -- a mere four seconds to reorient himself to solidity and then off to work.  Now, he has to waste an additional ten minutes with humanoid upkeep, as well as attempt to shake off the disorientation that results from unconsciousness.  All of this, just to reclaim his pre-sleep form.

 

He stumbles through this whole ritual with a foggy headache and prickly irritation, resentful of every excessive step required of him and pointedly ignoring certain _other_ physical aches.

 

Unfortunately, there’s no procedure he knows of to wipe clean the frustrations of the previous night or the dissatisfaction creeping over him.

 

\------

 

At long last, Odo trudges over to the Replimat to meet Garak for their weekly breakfast, hiding his tiredness with as much stoicism as he can muster.  

 

(He must not be quite successful, however, because as at least one deputy jumps out of the way from his grumpy glare as he stalks by.)

 

“I stabbed my thumb three times yesterday patching O’Brien’s pants.  What that man does all day to destroy my hard work, week after week, I don’t care to know.  Perhaps he’d rather avoid me... Smart man, because I’m no fan of him, or his heinous fashion sense, either!  But his wear and tear does keep a humble artisan like me in business.”  Garak rambles, waving his hand to show off the several cuts on the pad of his fingers.  “Ah the perils of my profession!”

 

He pauses, waiting for Odo’s reaction.  

 

Odo rubs his gummy eyes.  He tries to track what Garak just said, but his tired mind is mired in mud.  It’s like trying to keep shifted as a humanoid at the end of a long day.  Something about pants and stabbing?

 

Garak quirks an eyebrow and continues nonetheless.  “Now, I know what you’re thinking!  How did I manage to get such a nasty cut, when I bought a handguard for the sonic sewing machine last week?  No doubt you’d try to line up my injury as evidence that I cut it -- as a hypothetical example-- on an unsanded edge of a control panel, poking around where I don’t belong.”  

 

Garak huffs with put upon indignance.  “Well you’d be wrong!  As a matter of fact --”

 

But his explanation is cut off.  Odo’s mouth stretches open of its own accord to draw in a sharp, deep inhalation, and then expel the air with a loud groan.  A yawn.  It’s an unexpectedly satisfying action, although the purpose isn’t clear -- Odo doesn’t feel more alert as a result.

 

Garak stifles a yawn of his own.  “Your joie de vivre is infectious,” he says. “You know, these breakfasts of ours had much better conversation when you drank coffee.”

 

Odo scoffs.  “It wasn’t real coffee, it was shapeshifting.”  He shudders at the thought of drinking the actual bitter beverage (not to mention any unappetizing additives), as well as its mood-altering qualities.  “And my water and my shake are sufficient for my needs.”

 

“Really.”  A sly smile slithers onto Garak’s face.  “That’s not what Quark thinks.”

 

Odo harrumphs and sips at his shake.  He requested it five degrees colder than usual, which is a slight relief to his headache.  

 

“That miserable wretch thinks he can squeeze profit from me, plying me with his overpriced wares.”  His head is still fuzzy, but complaining about Quark comes rote to him. “I have no intention of changing what works.  This is already a scientifically balanced breakfast.”

 

Garak quirks an eyebrow, but before he can comment on that, a human entering the Replimat distracts his attention.  “My, my.  That one certainly enjoys his pre-shift ‘snack’… The indulgences of the young.”  Garak clucks his tongue in disapproval.  “Although I suppose I should find it rewarding to see that my clothing commissions are being appreciated.”

 

“What?”  Odo blinks at Garak, then follows Garak’s gaze.  It’s the human from last night, dressed in a similar antiquated costume as before.  He seems otherwise familiar, but maybe it’s because the cotton tunic and [ leather vest ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/78/59/53/785953c4fd7842b10ff24ad60b646087.jpg) remind Odo of some of the cover art for _Blessed Heroes_.  “I don’t follow.”

 

“Every morning he emerges from the holosuites looking like _that_ ,” Garak says with a sneer.  The man’s cheeks are flushed, and there’s a light sweat on his forehead.  

 

Odo gives a noncommittal grunt.

 

“Tsk tsk, Constable.  It’s so unlike you to be anything less than keenly alert to the happenings on this station.”  A lazy smirk tugs at the corner of Garak’s lips.  “I’d hazard a guess that something kept you up late last night.  A professional inquiry, I presume.  Must be nice to have such an engaging profession…”  Garak sighs the sigh of a wistful exile, then abruptly leans in, eyes wide with the gleam of intrigue.  “Unless it was personal.  Not something, but _someone_?”

 

Odo snorts.  “Hardly.”

 

“Ah well.”  Garak settles back in his chair and takes a sip of his tea.  “A bored tailor can dream.  I suppose the Founders can change a man’s body but not his… proclivities, regarding attractions.”

 

“I’ve been attempting to ignore such inconvenient urges, despite what the Founders have done to me,” Odo spits out with more bitterness than he intends.

 

Garak blinks in genuine surprise this time, or at least Odo thinks it might be genuine.  Odo has made it a habit to study the web of lies and occasional truths Garak weaves, in order to sort out the difference.  There’s no telling for sure though, with Garak.  “And what, exactly, does that entail?  What did they do?”

 

“Imbued me with the same base impulses as most solids!  Well, I refuse to give in to such a disgusting enterprise.  What a messy involved act, humanoid copulation!  All that stroking and rubbing, talking about _feelings,_ and fluids everywhere, it’s repulsive.”  Odo’s voice rises as his rant ramps up, and several nearby raktajino-drinkers glance up from their caffeine-deficient hazes.

 

Garak notes the shocked looks of their fellow breakfasters with budding delight.  Scandalizing the populace like this is the most fun he’s had all week, and he didn’t even have to instigate it.  “I expect your explorations of this matter led you to, ahem, solo solutions.  Surely that should help.”

 

“I would rather not have to deal with it at all,” Odo harrumphs.  

 

Odo did skim through a whole pamphlet on the subject, intended for Federation preteens, titled _A “Handy” Guide to You and Your Body!_  He couldn’t quite bring himself to follow through on it though, not with Quark’s leering face in his mind’s eye as a lurid reminder of the catalyst for this situation.  

 

Also, on principle he’d prefer to hold out on giving in to any nonessential humanoid desires if he can avoid it.

 

Garak quirks an eyebrow.  “Ah well.  Such self-care is only a temporary reprieve, if that,” he says, with some bitterness of his own.  

 

Odo tries to finish off his vanilla shake.  It doesn’t taste any different -- as bland and unoffensive as ever -- but it’s not as satisfying as it used to be.  Maybe he needs to adjust the nutritional content of the recipe.

 

“Back to my original issue, however.  The problem with the chief is that he attempts to fix everything himself,” Garak huffs. “He’s always tearing his shirt sleeves, ripping the knees out of his trousers -- from crawling through jeffries tubes, I imagine, although how he and the doctor spend their time is none of _my_ business of course -- and what does he do?  Patches them himself!  With electrical adhesive!  Sometimes he even _staples_ them closed.”  

 

Garak clutches over his heart, aghast at such a sartorial faux pas.  “And after this happens again and again the material will finally give out past such field repairs.  Only then will he bring the pitiful garment to this poor forgotten tailor.”

 

“But better than not at all,” Odo says, narrowing his eyes.  Conversations like these are never _just_ about pants.  

 

“True,” Garak says, stirring his red leaf tea with a frown.  He makes pointed eye contact with Odo.  “Ignoring the problem altogether isn’t a solution either.  Take a word of advice from a humble old bachelor… Best to get it done right the first time, over and done with, so you can carry on with your life.  Fully clothed.”  He clucks his tongue.  “One and done, Odo, less you become entangled, like me.”

 

“Hmph!” Odo scoffs.  “Not everyone is as concerned about ‘tailoring’ as much as you.”

 

As much as Odo would rather ignore his libido, it’s nice to know that it might not be like eating or drinking, a never ending humanoid cycle of satisfaction and need.  He can go ahead and get it over with, get a release from the obnoxious feelings, and then go about his business as usual.  One and done.  Easy enough.

 

“You’ll feel better, don’t fret.”  Garak smiles and pats Odo’s hand.  “If you’re interested in any more tips of the trade, my workload is shockingly light today.  I have no plans for lunch, thanks to the chief.”

 

Odo pokes at his shake, the last several millileters congealing at the bottom.  The thought of drinking another one of these at his next meal seems strangely unappetizing.  

 

“Noted, although I’ll likely be held up again with our latest string of security issues.”  Odo smirks.  “Now you mentioned you were poking around in a control panel…”

 

“Hypothetically!  You were half-asleep when I said that...”

 

The dregs of the shake remain undrunk by the end of the meal.  Perhaps Odo’s just not as hungry as usual.

 

\------

 

Later that day, as Odo sifts through paperwork in his office, the tiredness gives way to a thrumming tension.

 

He’s on edge and restless, drawn tight like he’s expecting something to happen, but he doesn’t know what.  He aches for something and he doesn’t know why.

 

Or rather, he does know, but isn’t sure he’s ready to follow through on Garak’s advice yet.

 

Odo is nothing if not dogged, however, so he paces around the office as the computer recites back to him the details of his case, attempting to concentrate on his work instead.

 

He comes to several conclusions:

 

The malfunctions were a result of various cables and other pieces gone missing, rather than cut or tampered with, so the motive might be to build some contraption.  Thus, sabotage might not be the intended purpose.  According to the most likely timeline, whoever is responsible for everything has been on the station for at least two weeks.  In order to get access to replicators in high traffic areas, main lighting systems, etc, the perpetrator has to be unassuming, someone won’t draw attention anywhere.

 

Certainly Quark wouldn’t draw attention in his own bar, but the deflector array is in Ops.  With the right cause, there’s always the chance he could cajole Rom into helping, except that Rom wasn’t back yet from picking up Nog at the Academy at that time.

 

This points to a crewmember, Bajoran militia or Starfleet, as the main culprit.

 

While they could be a Changeling impersonator, this also wouldn’t be the first time a trusted officer committed treason right under their watch.

 

Lieutenant Commander Eddington and his betrayal nag at Odo, as if this is the key to cracking the case.  The former Starfleet security officer skulked about, doing his duties for months without suspicion, before making his move.  For some reason, tiredness addling his mind perhaps, Odo also recalls Eddington’s obsession with an ancient Earth novel, as if the musical reenactments Eddington would hold in the holosuite from time to time could possibly be an important clue.  

 

But there’s no way Eddington could blend in long enough to steal station equipment mid-day without getting caught, not after his betrayal.  And what would he need with a few random cables, a holoprojector, and other miscellanea?  He had solid engineering skills, but he was no creative inventor…

 

Odo growls in frustration.  He’s been turning over the same details for far too long, getting nowhere.

 

The office door clicks open.  Odo glances up in surprise; it’s not like him to lose track of time.

 

“Hey Odo,” Kira says, stalking into the office for their scheduled security update meeting.  “Have you made headway on that string of equipment malfunctions yet?  If they’re all connected like you think, we need to lock down possible suspects.  Sisko wants this taken care of, yesterday.”

 

Odo, disgruntled, shakes his head.

 

Kira glances down at a padd she’s holding.  “Odo, it says in your previous report…”  She hesitates for a moment before speaking, then charges on.  “Do you really think Quark might be involved somehow?  Or is this… part of your usual um procedure?”

 

“I always suspect Quark because _he_ always has a blatant disregard for the law,” Odo says automatically.  He breaks eye contact to pace around the room; that restless feeling flares up stronger.  “But as loathe as I am to admit, he is not a prime suspect at this time.”

 

“And yet you’ve spent more time investigating him than anyone else --”

 

“I haven’t been investigating him, I’ve been surveilling the bar, which as we’ve established is where the most occurrences --”

 

“Not when you were supposed to be watching the Promenade, and that conflict broke out while you were harassing Quark.  Listen, I’m no fan of that little troll, and I know you’re still adjusting to your -- you know, but I’ve received complaints of negligence --”

 

Odo whips his head around, highly offended.

 

Kira throws up her hands in a placating gesture.  “I’m sure you’ll be back to normal before long, but whatever’s going on with you or with Quark, it’s affecting your job performance.  We need this case solved, and we need your full attention.  Find a way to fix it -- you have my permission to take the afternoon off if you need to -- and then get back to work.  Or you’ll have to see that Starfleet counselor you refused, under the Captain’s orders this time.”

 

Odo stares at her for a moment dumbfounded.  “This is a clear violation of subsection--”

 

“Odo, I’m worried about you.” Kira drops her professional sternness.  She walks over to him and grips his arms in that intense way she does -- like a hug, but with an appropriate distance.  Odo’s defensiveness fades with her touch: Kira is blunt when she cares, but she cares about him.  “It’s not like you to be so easily distracted.  You’re very dear to me, Odo, as my friend, and I know you’ve undergone a lot of big changes recently.  If you need someone to talk to or if there’s any way I can help…”

 

Embarrassment washes over Odo.  

 

That her offer to help would extend far enough to address his actual problem isn’t in the realm of possibility of course, but Odo can’t help but consider anyway.  On the pretense of looking at the floor, he discreetly glances over the curve of her body.  It’s compact beneath her uniform, and he thinks of how drawn to Guen’s heaving bosom Lun was.  Kira is very attractive by humanoid standards, he knows that, and at one time he almost ruined their friendship thinking she was everything he was supposed to want.

 

But his heart rate remains constant.  And the sincerity and compassion in her eyes remind him uncannily of someone else, instead.

 

“No, I’ll be fine, Nerys.  Thank you,” Odo says.  “I know what to do.”

 

As Garak so eloquently put it, he just needs to fix that rip in his clothes (or whatever).  Get it over with so he can get on with life.

 

\------

 

And after all, maybe it’s not such a bad thing that Quark is always on Odo’s mind, even if the nature of those thoughts has changed.  

 

A constable’s work is never done, and if Odo has to be afflicted by this particular humanoid problem, perhaps it’s for the best that it coaligns with the station’s most troublesome resident.  Quark may not be the primary suspect, this time, but dealing with his criminal mind might help shake loose conclusions about the perp.  Odo can still be on the job, even when dealing with this personal matter.  

 

The best solution, clearly, is to kill two Cardassian voles with one phaser blast.  Relieve this unbearable tension, while also keeping that miscreant occupied.

 

“Quark,” Odo says, stalking into the post-lunch bar -- barely half-full except for a few stragglers pushing the limits of their break -- a man on a mission.  “My quarters, now.”

 

“Why?” Quark pokes his head up from the shelf below the counter, swinging a decanter of Shrilkian shandy.  “I didn’t do anything!  That Andorian got himself into that fight, I’m only the supplier -- wait, not your office?  Why would you want --”

 

“I need to have sex,” Odo deadpans.

 

Quark drops the bottle with a crash, peach liquid splashing everywhere.  Morn, sitting as ever on his stool and looking particularly hung over, winces.  Several of the waiters start cleaning up the mess immediately, while Quark stands stockstill.

 

Odo smirks, although inside his heart pounds in his chest.  He tells himself this whole mess might have been worth it for the nonplussed look on Quark’s face alone.  It’s not as satisfying as it should be. “I’d rather get this over with, so I can move on with my life. Let’s go.”

 

“You’re not serious.”  A hesitant smile tugs at the corner of Quark’s mouth.

 

“As serious as your accumulated debts.”

 

At Quark’s struck expression, Odo turns on his heel and stalks back out.  

 

The telltale patter of Quark’s boots follows, presumably after several extended moments of shock.  They meet up in the turbolift, Odo with his jaw set firm ahead and Quark stealing glances at him, mouth flopping open like a beached glub-glub.  Odo’s stomach turns over.

 

“What’s the catch?” Quark finally manages to spit out, as they exit the lift and head down the hall together.

 

“I wasn’t aware I needed one.”

 

“There’s a catch, some fine print somewhere.  And I’m going to find out what.  I have experience with that sort of thing.”

 

“From your long history of petty scams.”  

 

Quark puffs his chest out.  “I make my living as a people person!  I pay attention, notice patterns.  And no one spends near a decade scoffing at every mention of doing the deed-- and at a certain proprietor of the raciest hologramming in the sector -- then one day out of nowhere decide to partake.  There’s a catch.  I’m being set up.”

 

Odo isn’t sure what to say to this.  He had assumed Quark would be on board with his proposal, the way Quark is with anyone who so much as bats their eyes his way.  Then again, that Quark never does what Odo expects of him is a consistent part of what makes him so infuriating.  

 

(It’s also what makes him so fascinating.  As an investigation into the criminal mind, of course.)

 

Odo remains silent, if nothing else a surefire way to irritate Quark the most.

 

“One minute you’re pretending we weren’t about to lock lips, then next you’re propositioning me like someone put a phaser to your head.  And you’ve been acting weird all week.  What sort of long game are you playing here?” Quark huffs.  

 

“No game.” Odo unlocks his door and extends his hand with a sarcastic flourish.  “After you.”  

 

Quark hesitates a moment. “Okay, I’m a gambling man, I’ll bite, but you don’t know what you’ve got yourself into.”  Quark wags his finger at Odo as he crosses the threshold, the door shutting behind them.  

 

They pause in silence for a moment, tension hanging between them.  Odo folds his arms across his chest, then swings them behind his back, unsure where to start now that they’re alone.  Quark stands there staring at Odo, bristling with anxious energy, one foot tapping at an increasing rate of speed.

 

“Well,” Odo says, clearing his throat, but doesn’t know how to continue.

 

There’s a pressure on Odo’s chest, and his stomach churns at warp speed factor six, like it might hurl at any moment.  He’s supposed to be looking for relief for this troublesome humanoid need of his, but right now this situation only seems to be creating new problems.

 

“Alright,” Quark finally says, breaking the silence.  “You want some of this?  Fine.  You can start by stroking my lobes.” Quark extends a shaky hand and runs it along the outside curve of his ear.  He attempts a leer, but it comes off more nauseous than salacious.  

 

“After that?  Who knows!  Dealer’s choice.  Perhaps bent over the desk?  Up against a wall?”  Quark gestures wildly, flinging one manicured hand out in a violent gesture.  

 

Odo’s heart pounds, and he wonders if Quark can hear it.  He’s thankful for the loose-fitting nature of his Bajoran uniform.

 

“No…”  Quark saunters into Odo’s sparse bedroom.  Odo follows, mesmerized as always by this strange mercurial man.  “I know you Odo, and despite that stone heart, you’re a romantic.  The bed it is then.”  Quark flops down on the mattress, bouncing up and down a little.  Odo watches, transfixed, other parts of him reacting to the sight.  “And then what?  And then what will you want to do?”  

 

Abruptly, Quark bounces back up to standing, any fake attempts at composure gone.  He’s breathing fast, and his heart must be pounding as hard as Odo’s is.

 

“Well!  What do you want!  What do you want from me Odo!” Quark yells, thick with hysteria.  

 

This encounter so far doesn’t fit at all into how Odo’s research explained foreplay.   _Cross-Cultural Seduction of the Alpha Quadrant_ had techniques ranging from giving compliments to touching certain zones to offering small presents, dependent on species.  However, it has no explanation on how to bridge the gap between an awkward Odo and an overwrought Quark.

 

It occurs to Odo, for the first time, that Quark might be as nervous as he is.  

 

Though with Quark’s lifelong experience as a humanoid, and a rather sexual one at that, probably not for the same reasons.

 

Odo had been so concentrated on how to solve his own problem, it didn’t occur to him how Quark might react.  

 

“It’s been ten years, and I’ve made myself very clear time and time again, and so have you.  Maybe you used to have different physical mechanics, which, hoo boy I’d always wanted to know more about that, as a connoisseur of erotic pleasure.  But now, ostensibly you’ve changed, to be one of us, but the part of you that’s you -- grumpy uptight Odo -- that will always be the same.”  

 

Quark pokes his fingers into Odo’s chest, eyes flashing.  This has the opposite effect that it should: Odo’s skin becomes flush with the heat of Quark’s passionate bitching, desire burning like a warp core in his abdomen.

 

“You’re still Odo, boring constable of justice, and I’m still your number one unfairly targeted criminal.  So either go through with whatever twisted persecution plan you’ve got planned or FUCK me already!”

 

And Quark is still Quark -- unpredictable, chaotic, and always willing to throw a wrench in Odo's plans.

 

Odo chuckles to himself, warm with fondness, any remaining nerves about the situation evaporating.  There's nothing to be worried about; there never was.

 

Quark’s chest heaves from the intensity of his speech, under several gaudy layers and nothing like Guen’s bosom, but nonetheless Odo’s heart in his own chest flutters and pumps.    He can’t help but be drawn to Quark, like Lun to his Kai’s betrothed Lady.  Whatever happened between them?  Odo never did finish the book.

 

“Fine then.”  

 

Quark’s face is still twisted in skepticism, even as Odo cups it in his hands.  Odo pulls the wary Quark closer in, until they're inches apart.  Finally, Quark closes his eyes and lets out a breathy sigh.  Odo breathes in deep that warm boggy smell.  

 

It's just Quark, same old wily Quark, who expects him to be Odo, nothing else.

 

And what Odo wants, in this singular moment, is to see what all the fuss is about.

 

So, he mashes his mouth to Quark’s.

 

Before this, to Odo, the humanoid practice of kissing as a concept was at best foreign and at worst unsanitary.  That slurping at another person -- using the same body parts and fluids as would be used to break down mapa bread for ingestion -- with the intention of engaging an entirely separate humanoid need is certainly not a notion Odo had understood.  And yet many varied Alpha Quadrant species (according to both his guidebook and observation) find it an enjoyable and intimate act!  

 

What Odo isn’t prepared for is how sensitive the nerves in the lips and tongue are, how entangling them with Quark’s shoots pleasure throughout the rest of him.

 

Odo moves his mouth against Quark’s, in a routine methodical fashion that soon gives way to sloppy instinct.  Quark’s mouth is firm beneath his, hot and desperate as he kisses back with a hunger that matches Odo’s.  

 

The wetness isn’t as disturbing as Odo thought it would be.

 

Odo clutches Quark closer.  He can feel Quark’s every twitch against him, hear his every small pleased noise.  

 

That connection -- the way the rest of existence dissolves away so it’s only this moment, only the two of them right here right now -- the intimacy of it is like the first time he linked with another Changeling.

 

It seems silly, now, that he didn’t try this earlier, in all his isolation.

 

Odo goes almost cross-eyed from relief, weak-kneed -- like a cool drink of water after a workout, like dissolving into his liquid form as a Changeling after a long day.  

 

Like the pure joy of shapeshifting into a bird.  

 

Flying up into the heavens until there’s only air and light.  Only bliss and the freedom beneath his wings.  Rising higher and higher until--

 

A moment of nothingness, floating midair.

 

“Uuh,” Odo gasps.

 

The bird drops from the sky like rain.

 

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

 

“What, are you done already?” Quark jokes and kisses down Odo’s neck.

 

“Something happened,” Odo says, pulling away in a panic.  “Parts of me are reverting to goo. Quark, Quark!”  He shakes the bewildered Quark.  “I’m leaking fluids.  Something broke --”

 

“Profits damned.”  Quark raises his browridge in surprise.  “Huh.  I guess I’m just that good.”

 

“If you could refrain from your self-aggrandizing for one moment, Quark.  I have an actual problem.”  Odo glances down at his pants, where a wet spot pools outwards.  His beige cheeks flush slightly pinkish.  “I’ll have to go see Dr. Bashir.  Again.”

 

Odo turns towards the door, but Quark clutches after him, heels dug.  “Now?  And leave me hanging here, lobes tingling?  That’s!  That’s!  That’d be just like you.”

 

Odo rolls his eyes and shakes Quark off.  “I’m in the middle of a medical emergency.  What could you possibly need?”

 

“I can’t believe you think your _mox-nop_ is an emergency,” Quark says, a bemused grin spreading across his face.  He pats Odo’s shoulder. “You’ll be okay, trust an expert.  Now, me on the other hand… You can’t work a person up like that and not follow through.  It’s rude and maybe you’re still getting the hang of being a humanoid, but --”  

 

“ _Mox-nop_ … Wait, that was an orgasm?  That’s all?”  Odo wrinkles his forehead.  Huh.  “It’s not what I expected.”

 

“Was that -- was that your first time?  What am I saying,” Quark palms his head.  “You’re Odo, of course it was... Wait -- whaddaya mean ‘that’s all’?”  Quark scowls and crosses his arms, shifting from foot to foot.  “You cream your pants after one kiss, and ‘that’s all’ is your reaction.  Well.  I see how it is.”

 

Odo cocks his head at Quark.  “No it was -- it was fine.  Nice.”

 

“Nice?” Quark says, hopeful.

 

Odo nods.  Now that he considers it, that might even be true.  There’s a pleasant cozy rush through his body, and the earlier tension has dissipated, at least somewhat.  “Very nice.”

 

“Okay.”  Quark brightens up.  “Good.”

 

Odo tries to remember if there was any ending protocol mentioned in his literature for sexual encounters.  

 

“Good then,” he says, gesturing Quark out of his quarters then closing the door behind the both of them.

 

“Odo, wait, Odo!”

 

As Odo stalks down the hallway, Quark continues to call after him:  “Fine, leave!  But I demand satisfaction.  When you want more, you know where to find me!”

 

Odo smirks to himself.  Just like a Ferengi, always greedy for more.  

 

Odo himself would be embarrassed at his own loss of control, but to finally experience release mitigates that concern.  

 

Good he doesn’t have to worry about this problem anymore.

 

\----

 

Later, Odo patrols the halls on watch for another 1800 hour equipment malfunction, swinging his limbs loose and unburdened.  

 

He’s a Lurian jumping mouse, ready to effortlessly bounce down the hallway.  

 

He’s a Bolian pufferfish, filled with helium and about to float along the ceiling.  

 

A profound sense of relief washes over him, light and carefree, such a stark contrast to the previous disconcerting days.  He didn’t even have sex, not the kind with all the nudity and touching, but he did reach what the literature points to as being the desired end result, which is even better.  

 

Efficient, hasslefree.  Problem solved.  One humanoid need he can wash his hands of.

 

The hallway dims and then lightens.

 

Odo rubs his eyes.  

 

It happens again, clearly an external cause and not his vision.

 

Odo picks up his pace.  The physical activity is more effortless than it should be.  As an experiment, he pushes off with one foot.

 

He sails down the hallway, ten feet past the distance his jump should have taken him, almost crashing into the turbolifts.  

 

Not just the lights, but the gravity then.  There’s been a major power drain on the system.

 

This is almost like the time in _Blessed Orbs_ that the kardallian monsters stole the Orb of Natural Law, and Lun stalked them back to their lairs--

 

A sudden flash of insight shoots through Odo like lightning.

 

 _Lun, in his leather armored vest and cotton tunic_ .   _Eddington, tall and pale and unassuming._

 

Odo bounds down the hallway to the nearest computer console to verify.  He runs a check on the engineering employees’ schedules for the past week, on recent transfers to the station, and then, finally, the current location of one particular employee.

 

Of course.

 

“Constable Odo to security team backup, be ready outside the holosuites, don’t enter until on my command.  I believe there we’ll find our saboteur.”

 

Odo hustles over as fast as he can.  His relative unfamiliarity with humanoid body coordination and movement works in his favor, this time; he has no long-ingrained habits working against him, so can adjust to the fluctuating gravity accordingly.

 

He bounds through the bar -- past a concerned Morn clutching his mug as his synthale sloshes upwards in slow motion, past the backup team waiting with phasers drawn at the doors of the holosuite.

 

“Lieutenant Barclay, put down the sonic wrench and step away from the machine,” Odo barks, busting in.

 

The holoprogram is still running, a landscape of rolling green hills with a large stone fortress in the background.  A tall thin man crouching over a convoluted mass of cables and assorted parts winces and screws his eyes shut.  He’s the same one that Odo has seen around the station at key moments, but was too distracted to connect to the crimes.

 

“You’re under arrest for sabotage and possible conspiracy,” Odo says, pointing his phaser at the culprit.  The cool metal of the weapon is strange in his hand.  As security chief, Odo has participated in readiness exercises, of course, but as a Changeling he never had need of the actual device before.

 

The man blinks his eyes open, flinching at the sight of the phaser.  “Sa-sabotage?  I never… I would never _hurt_ anyone.  That’s -- that’s not what this is about.  Not at all,” he stutters.  “Please -- please I can explain…”

 

“I understand your means and opportunity -- a Starfleet engineer, with a habit of being overlooked.  Perfect for access to station equipment without suspicion.  It was all in your personnel file.  Your motive however is not as clear, although being cast off from a premier starship to a backwater station on the brink of war might make for some resentment against your superiors.  Perhaps you’d like to elaborate.  A bomb?  Makeshift photon torpedo?  Maquis or Dominion?”

 

“N-n-no!”  Barclay’s eyes grow wide, horrified.  “It was - at least - I’m doing this for _love_.  This has nothing to do with anyone else.  Well, except for - for Lady Guinevere of course.”

 

Odo’s grip on his weapon falters.  “Who?”

 

“Of this holoprogram, _Knights of the Round Table_.”  A voice, high and clear, emanates from the pile of equipment.  “I am of light and energy, but soon this noble gentleman will set me free to discover the wonders outside these bounds.”

 

“You’re a hologram,” Odo says, now aiming his phaser at the voice’s location.  “Trapped in the Lieutenant's contraption.”

 

“She’s -- my dear Guinevere -- she’s a hologram, but she’s a _person_ ,” Barclay says, his nervous demeanor shifting to a steely determination as he explains.  “She’s not made of flesh and blood, but she has a _soul_ I’m sure of it.”  

 

 _Unknown sample_.  Odo swallows.

 

“No one else -- no one else can _see_ …”  Barclay continues.

 

“No one but you, my kind magician!”  The voice says.

 

Odo lowers the phaser slowly.  “And you’re not involved with the Maquis or the Dominion.”

 

“ _No_ .  I’ve been integrating android and holosuite technology, using the resources of the station, to try to provide a physical vessel for her to leave her simulated world.  I couldn’t -- Starfleet wouldn’t give me a permit -- they didn’t believe me, but this is something I _had_ to do, one way or another.  For her sake.  I only took nonessential equipment; I was careful to cause the minimum amount of disruption.  But you see, in order to contain the computer memory and physical projection necessary --”

 

A stream of incomprehensible technical information follows, the kind that Academy-trained officers fall back on as if it’s a common language.  The kind Odo has no patience for.

 

“I don’t care _how_.  I need to know why.”  This will determine whether Barclay’s lying about working solo.

 

“He already told you -- for that most noble of pursuits: love!  You do believe in love, good gentleman?”  Lady Guinevere chimes.  Several lights within the mass of coils and wires light up.

 

Odo scoffs.  He gestures for Barclay to answer.  “Tell me why.”

 

“Alright.  When -- when I was on the Enterprise,” Barclay starts, mopping his head with a handkerchief, “the holodeck, this program, was the only place I felt at home, where I -- I could be myself.  The program is set up so that you’re supposed to play as a couple of predetermined characters.  Like Sir Lancelot --

 

“Lun.  Of course,” Odo mutters.  Dr Bashir had mentioned that Odo’s favorite novel series was a cheap ripoff of human literature.  Odo had assumed it was just the doctor’s pomposity speaking.

 

“But I’m not -- I’m not brave or -- or dashing or athletic.  I could only be myself.  An awkward, anxious mess, who relates better to projected people than solid ones.”  Barclay reaches over to touch the pile of tubes and metal piping.

 

 _And me, a grouchy, rigid killjoy, who can’t relate to shapeshifters OR to humanoids_ , Odo thinks.

 

“A genius, with knowledge of untold magic!  Who braved the risks of this noble quest in my favor,” Guinevere says.  “I fell in love with the man himself, not his role.”

 

“But you’re a holo character,” Odo says aloud.  “You’re programmed to be attracted to the main player.  That doesn’t mean it’s real.”

 

“Hmph!”  There’s a faint buzzing from from the machine and one end starts to smoke.  Barclay hastily pulls out several cords, and a chestnut-haired lady with a stubborn chin steps out from the machine.  Barclay checks her over, twitching with worry, as she primly brushes off her flowing regal dress.  She kiss Barclay smartly on the cheek.  He blushes and relaxes.  “I’m real enough!”

 

“See I was skeptical too, but!  But then!”  Barclay says, waving one hand in a jerky manner.  “I had messed with the code for so long -- adding in experimental techniques to create more world options, deleting limitations, giving Guinevere access to more algorithms and choices...  One can only play the same staid holonovel for so long and, well, I’m a bit of a holoprogramming whiz….”  Barclay’s face twitches with embarrassed pride.  

 

“Eventually I became more than the sum of my processes,” Guenevere says.  

 

“She emerged as a real person with free will.  I’ve checked the code, and there’s no other explanation.”

 

Odo shakes his head.  “There’s no ulterior plot against station security?  No one else involved?”

 

“Just me.  She’s never -- I’m the only real person she knows.  She wants -- she wants to see the universe -- and I -- no matter what I want, no matter if she falls in love with someone new, it wouldn’t be fair to her to keep her trapped here.”

 

“But it’s the only existence she’s ever known,” Odo says, folding his arms across his body.  He turns to Guenevere with a scowl.  “You might not like it out there.”

 

“That’s what I said,” Barclay mutters, face twisted with anxiety at the reality that he’ll soon be plucked from the safe walls of the holodeck.

 

“But I wanted to broaden my horizons, experience life beyond this kingdom, beyond this _realm_!”  Guinevere says, face aglow with possibility.

 

“To connect with others in the way -- in the way I never can.”  Barclay smiles at her as if she’s the sun itself.  Then he closes his eyes and extends his wrists in submission.  “Constable, I never meant -- I don’t want to cause trouble.”

 

“He only wanted me to be happy!  Surely the integrity of true love will prevail!” Guinevere says.

 

“You are under arrest for theft and unauthorized technical experimentation,” Odo says.  He hesitates for a second then handcuffs Barclay.

 

“I accept the consequences of my actions, but without -- without me -- don’t you see?  I had to!  I had to try!”

 

“Your device and the holoprogram will be held as evidence -- this means of course that it will be essential not to deconstruct or disturb it in any way.  I will also be sure to inform Starfleet that their inability to provide their staff with adequate  _legal_ resources and their blinders towards alternate lifeforms creates inherent danger for station security.  That’s the best I can do within the confines of the law.”

 

“Thank you, _thank_ you.” Barclay gasps.  "As long as Guin is safe..."

 

“Goodbye my love!  My favor be with you in these troubling times!”  Guinevere says.  “I have faith for your return!”

 

Odo calls in his deputies to escort the thief to the brig.  The holosuite shuts down, the Lady Guinevere fading from presence as she waves her handkerchief at her lover’s handcuffed back.

 

Odo follows after, that same sense of dissatisfaction as this morning creeping over him.

 

\---------

 

Word gets around the station that the reign of somewhat irregular malfeasance is over, complete with tall tales of Odo slaying a dragon or Barclay capturing a (flesh-and-blood) maiden as a hostage.  Everyone stops by to thank Odo for ridding the station of its menace (or to admonish Odo for not solving it sooner).

 

Meanwhile, a disgruntled tension settles over Odo, that feeling of _want_ settling in his belly as before.  Except that it’s shifted somehow, become deeper.

 

Odo isn’t sure what to make of it.

 

It’s later that evening when Jadzia and Worf stop by his office to give their due.  Jadzia, because she loves gossip, and Worf, because he appreciates a job completed.

 

“Days of disruption and extra investigations for my team, and it’s all because that moon-eyed imbecile was so focused on _relations_ with her that he couldn’t bother to carry out his professional duties to the station!” Odo grumbles.  

 

“Now that doesn’t sound familiar, does it…”  Jadzia quirks an eyebrow, pointedly eyeing Odo.  “I’m more than happy to put this mess behind us, but… Barclay did seem to genuinely love her, from what you’ve said, and that’s not the type of thing you throw away.”

 

Odo avoids eye contact.  “Humanoid romantic sentiment, _pah!_  A troublemaker with misplaced priorities, like any other.”

 

“I do sympathize with his quest.   To free a beautiful maiden, to prove one’s worth, to honor love…. His methods were clearly misguided, but his were honorable goals,” Worf contemplates, the gleam of romance in his eyes.  

 

Jadzia lights up.  “See?  Worf gets it!  Life is about connecting with people, taking risks.  It’s too short not to pursue love, not if you’ve found something real.”

 

“Easy for a joined Trill to say,” Odo mutters, keenly aware of the troubles wasting his shortened humanoid lifespan could bring him.

 

Worf scowls, his ridges deepening.  “Although a hologram is not real.  It does not count.”

 

“I’d rather be attentive to my duties than destroy half the station over such nonsense,” Odo scoffs and busies himself straightening up a pile of PADDs.  “I’ve gotten along fine alone before now.”

 

“I never said you haven’t.”  Jadzia shrugs, easy to let it slide.  “I’m sure Lady Whoever had a grand ole time up in her castle before she met Barclay.  But she wanted more.  She, for whatever reason, thought herself better off for meeting him.  He had something to offer _her_ in their relationship.”

 

Odo gives a noncommittal harrumph.  

 

Worf interjects, “You are projecting quite a lot onto a holographic woman you have never met.  Unless you have more fanciful platitudes you wish to share, I believe we have a sparring match to attend.  I, for one, do not wish to be late this time.”

 

“Fine fine.  Then let’s go watch some real passion, first hand.”  Jadzia waggles her eyebrows at Worf, who almost cracks a small smile.

 

Worf heads out the door, exchanging nods with Odo as he goes.  “Good day, Constable.”

 

Before she leaves, Jadzia leans in and takes Odo’s hand.  “And you have a lot to give someone too, Odo.  You don’t have to be afraid.”

 

Odo yanks his hand away, scowling.  She winks and darts out the door after Worf.

 

He wouldn’t want Jadzia to get the idea he is anything less than repelled by her meddling, but mulls this over anyway.  

 

It didn’t occur to him that was the point.  That physical -- and romantic -- coupling was more than a biological imperative, imposed from genetics to propagate a species.  It’s also about intimacy and sharing and connection.  

 

Like linking.

 

There’s a throb in Odo’s chest, at the loss of connection with his people.  At his continued distance with the humanoids around him, despite their newfound similarities.

 

It’s not enough.

 

He wants more.

 

\------

 

As Odo paces through Promenade on his daily security rounds the next morning, he appreciates that this bit of routine hasn’t changed.  

 

Every day at the same time, he still takes the same number of steps and turns around the station (39 steps from the security office to the tailoring shop, 19 from the shop to the Klingon restaurant…).  He still notes the same details about his environment (early foot traffic down by 7%, four more jumja sticks on display than usual, etc).  He still visits the same locations in the same order and relishes this small taste of normalcy.

 

Of course unlike before, Odo can’t slip through a locked door to ensure that empty businesses have remained so over the night.  He can’t shift into a Tarkalean hawk to float down from the second level to the first.  Instead his calves burn as he climbs the stairs like everyone else.  

 

And, today, he can’t go about his duties without the distraction of his contemplative thoughts, conniving to make him even grumpier than usual.

 

Not to mention his heartsick stomach.  Or that prickling sensation of _want_ , threatening to flare up again.  

 

If it weren’t for the solids and their innate need to indulge every last emotional and physical impulse… If it weren’t for their complicated and unnerving social procedures for coupling… If it weren’t for the way that slimy little man looks at him, and the way it makes Odo’s blood pump just remembering how he felt against him...

 

Odo is so involved with grumbling over the entire catalogue of causes that led him to his current discomfort, that his muscle memory carries him to his next stop before he’s mentally prepared for who’s there.

 

Two large ears attached to a lumpy head pop out from the entrance to the bar to greet him.

 

Odo, lost in mental stormclouds, recoils at the abrupt sight.  He takes a large step back as a full body rush of recharged desire and heat and irritation roars through him at seeing in front of him the face that haunts his mind.

 

“And a good morning to you too, Constable,” Quark says, sarcastic as ever, with lips that were once locked with Odo’s.  “Starting the morning off on the right foot, I see.”

 

Odo grunts and crosses his arms.  Arms that once held Quark against him.

 

Well-accustomed to such reticence, Quark thrusts a steaming mug towards Odo.  “Here, perhaps this will help.”  

 

Odo takes the cup automatically, before he thinks better of it.  

 

The tea vapor trickles up to his nose, and he’s hit with the tension of their previous recent encounters:

 

Quark’s face inches from his over a warm mug, the tug in Odo’s chest and gravitation towards those open lips, both of them hesitating at the precipice of unknown territory.  

 

Quark, in his quarters, yelling at him in a fretful passion, his desperate yearning for Odo to prove him wrong.   The soaring joy through Odo’s nerves as they kissed, the lightness in his heart afterwards.

 

Quark, now fully present in front of him, gazes up at Odo with a hopeful anxious look, awaiting Odo’s reaction -- his gratitude maybe, or perhaps something more.  Odo’s stomach flutters with an angry swarm, his desire roaring to be satisfied, and he’s hit with how much he himself _wants_ whatever Quark is offering here, beyond the tea.

 

Again.  And again.  

 

This was never something that could ever be over and done with, at one encounter.

 

But it’s too much too early in the morning, and his heart aches, and Odo doesn’t want to have to deal with this right now.

 

“I’ve already had breakfast Quark,” Odo gripes.  “I don’t want any more of your pathetic attempts to upsell your products.  Don’t you have better things to do?  Marks to swindle, Morns to serve watered down drinks?  A station to wreak havoc upon and holosuites to rent out to thieves--”  

 

Quark shrinks back as Odo rants, scowling.  “He was my best customer!  How was I supposed to know that he was ransacking the station?  It’s not like I interrogate people about their private affairs.  Unlike others I could name --”  

 

“Leave me _alone_ , Quark.  Please, I beg you, stop bothering me.   _Leave me.  Alone_.”  Odo bites off each word with the frustration of his entire week, of every day since he became solid, almost spitting into Quark’s face.

 

This time it’s Quark who flinches.  

 

“Someone woke up with his lobes all in a twist,” Quark mumbles, scowling.  He yanks back the mug.  “You’ve been saying to leave you alone for years, but did I listen?  No, and here I thought… I just assumed… You know what?  Fine.  Be miserable.”  

 

Quark throws up his hands and stalks away in a huff, yelling into the empty bar.  “He wants me to leave him alone?  Then I’ll leave him alone!”

 

Odo stands motionless outside the bar for a long moment, a full twenty seconds past the four minutes he allots in his schedule to interact with Quark in the morning.

 

For once, Quark obeyed his request; for once Quark wasn’t contrary with him for the sake of it.

 

So why isn’t he satisfied?

 

\--------

 

Later that evening in his quarters, after a long day, Odo’s stomach gurgles and groans.  

 

He stirs his shake with a spoon, then lifts the glass full of thick nutritious goop to his mouth, but can’t bring himself to eat it.  It doesn’t make any sense.  His body clearly requires nutrients, he has the necessary substance in front of him, and yet the prospect of ingesting yet another routine meal seems daunting.

 

Odo hadn’t finished his meal at breakfast.  Then at lunch, he had been doing his normal rounds at the bar.  At twelve-hundred hours on the dot, Quark, as was his habit, brought Odo a shake and three hundred milliliters of water.  Unlike routine, however, Quark simply set down the two cups in front of Odo, frowned, then walked off without another word.  

 

No attempts to push outlandish (and expensive) foreign dishes on him, as if Odo would ever consider eating Tellerite slime molds or “hundred-year-old” pickled bird eggs from Earth.  No whining about Odo’s boring palate or snide comments about his reluctance to take advantage of humanoid pleasures.  And no new beverages poured especially with Odo in mind.

 

Odo hadn't had any appetite after that.

 

 _You’re limiting yourself_.  Dr Mora’s words, after all these years, echo through Odo’s head.   _When will you come to your senses and realize that this stubbornness of yours will only come back to hurt you, Odo_.

 

Odo growls under his breath and slams the shake back on the counter, its contents sloshing up the side.  His stomach groans in protest.

 

“It’s not wrong to want control over your own life,” Odo says outloud to the empty room.

 

Quark’s face, flinching back when Odo yelled at him, looms in his mind.  

 

Quark’s face, amused and fond at Odo's loss of bodily control when they kissed, soothes him.

 

Odo sighs and deposits the undrunk shake back into the replicator and pulls out the security reports on Barclay’s arrest, in preparation for the upcoming court case.

 

Barclay had had every opportunity to limit his relationship with the hologram to the holosuites.  By all accounts, he wasn’t naturally a risk-taking man, but instead one to get rather anxious about most aspects of daily life.  Yet, when he found one place, one (possible) person that accepted him as he was, instead of being content with that, his decisions led him instead to push past his comfort zones.  For the sake of Lady Guinevere, to help untrap her from her limited existence.  For the sake of his beloved’s happiness, nothing more.

 

Odo’s attention wanders as his angry stomach pushes back against his cognition.

 

A lifetime of vanilla shakes, three a day every day for the rest of his limited humanoid lifespan, dance in front of him, an endless row of tedium mocking Odo’s stubborn reservations.

 

Odo hesitates, then decides to take a risk of his own.  A small one.  He programs in a simple meal into the replicator.  One potato, baked, no seasoning.  One chicken breast, boiled.  One cup of plain vegetable broth.

 

He chews and swallows, pausing after each sip or forkful of food just to be sure.  The textures and subtle tastes are strange in his mouth.  But his body welcomes each careful bite.

 

The station malfunctions hadn’t been disconnected breakdowns or dastardly sabotage, but the result of one man (illegally) trying to broaden his lover’s horizons, so she could be in control of her own destiny.

 

Those feeling of Odo’s that aren’t thirst -- the fluttering in his stomach, his quickened heart rate, the flush of heat -- hadn’t been a common illness or a plan of the Founders to make him suffer, either.

 

They’re the result of one man, one who (perhaps genuinely) has been trying to help Odo take charge of his own happiness this whole time.

 

And if Odo continues to live in fear of what his body will do, he’s already given up control.

 

Perhaps it’s time for him to stop limiting himself.

 

\-------

 

It’s late evening by now, prime business hours.  Odo pauses at the entrance to the bar, then brushes off his reluctance.  

 

Their morning encounter wasn’t the first time he's told Quark off, nor the first time Quark has yelled at him in a huff.  Nothing’s changed between them; nothing ever does.

 

(Then why does his chest ache?)

 

Odo stalks up to the counter and clears his throat loudly.  Quark keeps his back to Odo, putting away a few loose bottles of Andorian ale back on a shelf.  With those oversized ears, there’s no chance Quark didn’t both hear and recognize Odo’s entrance.

 

“Quark,” Odo says.

 

Quark huffs then turns around and pours a glass of water.  He slams it in front of Odo.  “You’re off schedule.  Get your water from the Replimat next time.”

 

“I’m not thirsty Quark,” Odo says.

 

Morn looks between them, with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Then what?  Have you eaten anything today?”  Quark tilts his head towards Odo, probably listening for a hungry stomach, but then catches himself.  He shakes his head and turns back towards the shelf to finish putting up the bottles.  “What do I care.  Visit a replicator; your dumb shake isn’t one of my specialized recipes.”  

 

Odo raps his knuckles on the bar counter.  “I had dinner.  A tuber and a bird from Earth.  It wasn't terrible.”

 

Quark pauses for a moment, hand outstretched towards the shelf.  Then he resumes his task, slamming down the bottles harder than necessary.  “So what.  If you want something, spit it out.  Is some other hooligan using my holosuites as a science lab?  Have you some lame excuse to persecute me, as usual?  Well, I don’t care.  You don’t want me bothering you, but _you’re_ the one harassing _me_ all the time, and I’m tired of it.  I have work to do.”

 

“Working on a reprehensible, mostly illegal matter of some kind or another I expect.”

 

Quark snorts, but doesn’t take the bait.

 

“Fine, I’ll leave then,” Odo says, but doesn't move.

 

Quark ignores him.

 

Morn shoves sand peas in his mouth, head swiveling between the two of them like a springball match.

 

Odo folds his arms across his chest, his inspector’s logic nagging at him despite himself.  

 

“But answer me this, first.  If I’m the same as ever, why have you been so attentive to me, now that I'm a solid?  If you know I won’t change, why did you suddenly think you could charm the latinum out of my pockets?  Or... in my quarters…”  Odo pauses, face heating at the memory.  “I’ve never known you not to have an ulterior motive, and if all those free beverages were a ploy --”

 

“Because I thought--” Quark interrupts loudly.  

 

Morn scoots his stool closer to them, still chewing, leaning in with rapt attention.  Odo glares at him.  Morn rolls his eyes and shuffles off out of earshot.  

 

Quark watches this, then gives a little half shrug and continues in a small voice, “I thought I could finally be what you wanted.”

 

The words hang in the air, true and unguarded.  There’s a melting sensation in Odo -- all the more strange now that Odo can’t, in fact melt.

 

“Have.  Have what you want.”  Quark wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and scowls.  “I mean, as a businessman --”

 

“You do.  You are,” Odo manages to choke out.  Why do humanoids insist on such difficult forms of communication?

 

“And what is that?”

 

“A risk,” Odo says, “that I can always count on.”

 

Quark cocks his head, surprised, then scans Odo’s face with the shrewd eye of an appraiser.  "Why are you here?  What do you want?"

 

"I told you, to take a risk.  Another one."

 

Quark stares at him, waiting for the punchline.

 

"Perhaps a new drink, to wash down my dinner."

 

"So you ate a potato, big deal.  What, now you want me to pour you a Warp Core Breach or something?”

 

Odo tilts his head, looking past Quark.  “I'd like a glass of that one.  On the middle shelf.”  Odo points to a squat bottle.

 

“The bottle with red label?”  Quark shoots Odo a weird look.  “Really, slug juice?  As in, Lyx’s Lip-Licking Elixer, pressed fresh from hand-picked cave slugs?  It’s a good brand – my preferred brand in fact, that’s no secret – but it’s a delicate flavor for the price, and I wouldn’t expect you to have the proper palate for it.”

 

There’s a hint of a smile on Odo’s face as he nods.  “Humor me.”

 

“Alright.  But I’m putting it on your tab.  And no discounts if you spit it back out.”  Quark wags his finger at him, then, sure that this is going to be a joke of some sort, pours out a tall glass of the thick beige liquid.

 

Eyes narrowed, Quark cautiously places it in front of Odo.

 

Odo picks the glass up and watches for a moment as the juice vacillates from the movement -- unhurried, its viscosity clinging to the sides of the glass.  Odo tamps down a wistful ache at the sight.

 

Then, he sets it back down in front of Quark.  “For you," he says to Quark's astonishment.  "A customary humanoid gesture, or so I’ve observed.”

 

All the root beer in the Federation couldn’t have tasted as sweet as the look on Quark’s face.

 

\------

 

Several hours later, after closing time, they’re in Odo’s quarters together.

 

Quark is lying face down on the bed, knees partially bent, with several pillows under his stomach.  Odo stands behind him, one hand gripping Quark’s hip, and the other holding the PADD that he’s squinting at.

 

They’re both naked, flush with arousal, and quite frustrated.

 

“After extended manual stimulation as previously explained, your partner should be ready.  As always, proceed slowly and gently, checking in for comfort and safety,” Odo reads aloud.  He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead.  Concentration has become difficult.

 

“Yeah yeah, I’m good to go.  That’s not the problem.   _You_ are,” Quark says, half-muffled.

 

“It’s not my fault the Founders --”

 

“--gave you a trouser snake the size of a northern swamp eel.  Go ahead already, please, please, I’m begging you,” Quark whimpers.

 

Odo’s hand clenches on Quark’s hip, restraining himself from reacting to Quark’s whining.  “This isn’t going to work.  It won't fit.”

 

“Now you decide that!  After you made me shower ( and timed me for thoroughness!), then gave a good round of oomox (that part was nice), then wrapped up your eel--”

 

“‘The barrier method is still the most safe and sanitary --’” Odo recites.

 

“-- in that antiquated sack--”

 

“‘-- way to prevent transmissions, especially between interspecies partners.’”

 

“-- _then_ used about a gallon of--”

 

“The instructions said a _generous_ amount!” Odo huffs.

 

“--which is starting to dry up on my thighs, not great.  And I’ve spent half an hour bent over a pile of pillows like some kind of --”  The other half of Quark's complaint is lost to the poofy bedspread, as he wiggles into the bed as if to prove a point, .  

 

Odo groans with frustration at the sight, twitching against Quark.  “The position was supposed to minimize discomfort and optimize access.”

 

“Spare me the Federation messaging.  Now if we could have done what I suggested --”

 

“No.”  Even with a teeth guard, Odo doesn’t want those incisors within a meter of anywhere delicate.

 

“Well do whatever you want with me!  But do something!  You overbearing fascist _virgin_ who thinks he knows --”

 

Odo, this time unable to restrain himself, slides in forward.

 

Sort of.

 

Quark moans, any complaints abandoned.

 

“Is this -- acceptable,” Odo grunts.

 

“Yes yes yes,” Quark babbles.

 

Odo drops the PADD and scoops into the tub of lube he replicated, then slathers Quark and himself with it.  

 

He squeezes Quark’s legs together.  “Stay.”

 

Quark’s breathing becomes heavy enough to resemble panting.

 

Odo realigns, then pushes in between Quark’s thighs, brushing against the slick external folds and knob towards Quark’s front.  Not penetrating, but between and against.  He repeats, slowly and methodically at first.  

 

Then instinct takes over, and he gets rougher, faster.  

 

In and out.  In and out.

 

Quark whines and moans like a plucked targ.  Odo is glad he soundproofed the floor and walls that time months ago.  

 

Odo rests his weight on his forearm now digging into Quark’s back and leans over his quivering body, hand at the base of Quark’s skull.  He shifts the hand to move against Quark’s lobes as he thrusts.  

 

Quark moans louder.

 

They move with each other, rhythm syncing to create a rare feeling of unity.

 

For Odo, in this moment, there’s nothing else on the station -- in the galaxy -- but the points at which Quark and he intersect: the wrinkles of Quark’s lobe under his palm; the softness of Quark’s lumpy body against his; the sweet intoxicating heat of it all.

 

Unconsciously, from deep within, Odo tries to loosen the telepathic-sensory boundary between them.  It doesn’t work of course -- his physiology is human now -- but it barely matters.

 

His whole body yells a song of affirmation, of ebullient bliss, that this _this_ is what bodies -- what humanoids with all their frustrations -- were made for.  

 

This is what Odo -- Founders be damned -- was made for.  

 

To pound Quark into the mattress.

 

There’s a rising sensation within Odo, every nerve singing with bliss, _connection_ , and then, reaching a peak, an ecstasy of white-lighting nothingness shoots through him and --

 

He jerks a couple more times with a grunt, releasing, then he relaxes boneless, draped over Quark.  Quark whines and wiggles beneath him.  Odo shifts off and props himself on an elbow beside Quark.  He kisses a trail up Quark’s back, then glides his hand up to caress Quark’s lobe, now sucking on his neck.  

 

Gentle, languid, loving.

 

After a few minutes, Quark gasps and twitches several times.  He gives a throaty sob, then stills, face down into the bed.

 

Odo shuffles down to loop his arm over Quark’s lower back, spooning him.  Quark wriggles onto his side, not facing Odo.

 

"That was -- good, that was good,” Quark says dazed, a thin waver in his voice.  Odo isn't sure if he's capable of speech quite yet.  “What about you?  Are you going to say 'that's all' again?"

 

"That's all there is," Odo says with a sense of wonder and awe.  He pulls Quark closer.

 

It's not a holofantasy, nor an obscene novel, nor a clinical procedure, nor a humanoid urge cursed upon him; instead it's simply two people finding a new way to connect with each other.

 

It's another way for Quark to complain endlessly at Odo.  Another way for Odo to annoy and frustrate Quark.

 

It's a way to not be alone, even outside the Link.

 

\--------

 

“Ah, just the man I was hoping would stop by!”  Quark, beaming, throws down the dishrag he’d been polishing drinkware with.  He pops the cork of a large blue bottle and pours its contents into one of the glasses.  “I’ve got something special for you.”

 

“Do you, now?” Odo says, sauntering up to the counter with an amused smile on his face.  

 

“This is the one.  Your gateway to the world of humanoid pleasures untold.”  With a dramatic flourish, Quark sets down the cup in front of Odo.  “As promised.”

 

“This drink.  Really.”  Odo leans over the counter to whisper in Quark’s ear.  “It wouldn’t be the first.”  

 

Quark flushes to a bright tangerine and Odo smirks, smug at how such a simple gesture can fluster the salacious lecher.

 

The surface of the liquid pops and fizzes.  Odo takes a tentative sip.  

 

“Seltzer.  No sugar, no alcohol, no bitterness.  Nothing but water and gas.”

 

The drink is exciting in his mouth, like water that bites back, and as promised without any extraneous flavor or additives.  It’s thrilling, revelatory even, and the bubbles popping in his mouth mimic the electric pleasure that fizzles through him as he interacts with Quark.  

 

There’s something in his chest that expands like a balloon, light and giddy, and Odo can’t help but smile.  

 

He raises the glass in a toast.  “This is the one.”

 

This body and its foreign feelings may not have been Odo’s choice, but everything he does with it are.  The Founders may have intended it as punishment -- and Odo would still take his old physiology back in a last heartbeat -- but he’ll always be grateful for the new experiences it led him to.

 

Both the seltzer and the kissing that follows taste of joy.


End file.
